Lost Memory
by writeroneday
Summary: What happens when memory of things past is lost?
1. Chapter 1

As always, I do not own or get money for writing FanFic... But my reward is when you read and review, so please leave a review after you have read the story. If you like something, let me know...If you don't let me know...It is how I learn...

He realized he had been staring at a light for several minutes before it registered. The light was from a single lamp, he thought on the side of a building. It hardly cast enough illumination for him to see anything; it was partially blocked by whatever he was lying in. Slowly his senses started to return, sight first. Hearing was next. There was a buzzing in both ears, but somewhere in the distance he heard a horn honk. The next sense to return was taste. He had a copper taste in his mouth. He thought maybe it was the taste of blood. Next was feeling. His head felt like it was going to explode and he raised a hand to touch his forehead. He was lying on his back. He felt a lump and a lot of pain. His depth perception was off and his fingers hit the lump on his forehead. He blinked his eyes back into focus and thought his hand had blood on it from where he had touched the wound above his right eye. There was something wet and sticky on his fingers. A cough erupted from his chest and he moaned. Pain suddenly seemed everywhere. Then came smell. He could finally smell and he didn't like what assaulted his nose, the smell of rotting garbage. The pain in his body dulled to an ache, his head still pounded, and the smell was horrific.

His next realization was that he was in a garbage dumpster, looking up at a two storied building and suddenly two men were looking over the edge of the roof. He could see a gun in one of the hands. He froze.

"I told you he fell from here…"

They were about ten feet down the wall from him, opposite the light. He could just see their silhouettes against the night sky, and the gun, and light glinted off it as it the man holding it pointed it down.

"Well then he must have flown off because I don't see a body..."

He had stopped breathing, afraid he'd make a noise.

"Well I know I put a bullet in him…There is a pile of trash over there…"

If they shot into the trash dumpster he was dead for sure.

"Well let's go down and look for him…"

He saw the two men disappear back over the edge of the roof and he realized they had not seen him lying in the big dumpster in the dark …Whoever they were. But the one man had said he had shot him. He sucked in a slow silent breath.

His mind began screaming at him to move, get up, get out of the dumpster and he tried to roll sideways but the pain that shot through his head would not let him. Even on his back his world spun. With an instinct for survival he took his hands and heaped trash over his body and burying himself deeper.

He heard voices, heard them walk by the dumpster.

"I don't think you shot him…"

"I told you, I hit him…"

"Well it looks like he landed and took off; because I don't think he flew away…"

He felt a flash of fear as he felt the dumpster being looked in…

"Oh god, what in the hell is that smell…" A voice spoke above where he lay.

"Hey…over here…these here boxes look like someone landed on them…its your trash pile."

He heard the guy that had been leaning over the dumpster drop back to the ground and footsteps moving away. He lay still, breathing in the rotten smell for a slow count to a hundred. There were no more sounds. With great care he started to extract himself from the garbage and the dumpster. His head pounded and there was a pain in his lower right back that he hadn't felt until he started to move.

It took him a couple tries but he got himself upright and hanging onto edge of the dumpster. He carefully peered over the top of it and saw no one in the alley. He took a moment to assess himself. His hands worked their way over his body. First his head, yes it definitely was blood. He had a large cut across the right side of his forehead. He realized he was dressed in a suit jacket and dress pants. He thought the shirt he wore was maybe dark blue or black, no tie. His right hand went to his back and his fingers closed over a gun. Pulling it out of its holster he looked at it in the dimness of the streetlight. It was an automatic.

He slid the gun back home into its holster, feeling momentary pain as the gun went back into place. He felt around his pockets, and from the left pocket he pulled out a folded wallet. Opening it, he tried to make out the name on it…or the picture…in the dimness he couldn't. He folded it and put it back inside his jacket. Searching the right side he felt his hand fold around something odd shaped and a little heavy. Pulling it out, it was a badge. He stared at it for a couple seconds and then put it back in jacket pocket. Reaching into the inside right pocket of the jacket he pulled out another wallet. Opening it he could see by just the length of the name, it was different but he thought the picture looked the same as the other one…but in this light it was hard to tell. Besides, he had a feeling his vision was a little off. He replaced that wallet back where he had found it.

He looked around the alley. He didn't know where he was or even who he was…his head hurt and his forehead needed some kind of attention. He had two ID's, a gun and a badge…The badge was the one thing that had felt wrong…Why…?

Moving carefully he crawled all the way out of the dumpster, hanging on to the side for a long moment. The world beneath his feet rocked and rolled. He felt bile rush into his mouth and he threw up. He staggered to the side of the dumpster automatically seeking cover. Twice more he threw up, and it made the pain in his head almost unbearable.

It took him several moments to get things back in focus and get control of his stomach. He wiped his mouth against his sleeve, instantly regretting it as something slimed across his lips and chin. He wiped his face with his hand, removing the offending feeling and concentrated on his breathing, stopping the heaves from continuing. "Fu...k" his voice gagged on the word…his stomach wanted to revolt again.

Finally getting himself under some kind of semblance, he went in the opposite direction from where the voices had gone. He brushed garbage off his clothing and tried to straighten himself up. He hesitated at the corner of the alley and the street. The street was deserted. He stepped into the shadows at the corner and waited, surveying what he saw. It looked like a quiet street. Looking about a block to his left he could see traffic traveling in both directions on the cross street. Glancing in the other direction it was a couple blocks before he saw traffic there and it all seemed to be going one direction. It felt late night or early morning to him. The street that the alley exited onto was lined with what looked like apartments and then he saw something that caught his eye. It was a cross. There was a church to his right, on the same side of the street.

The word Sanctuary popped into his throbbing mind…

Moving out onto the sidewalk, he headed in the direction of the cross, realizing that it was lit up, a bluish color…He wanted to put his hands inside his coat pockets but between the throbbing in his head and his fuzzy vision he decided to keep his arms available for balance. He stumbled once, not seeing the uneven surface of the sidewalk, and was glad he had his hands free as he fell against a rough bricked wall. The throbbing in his head made it hard to think and hard to focus his eyes. He swallowed, his stomach wanting to revolt again. He took several deep breaths, working through the pain and the nausea.

Moving to the edge of the last building he looked at the side of the church. He saw that it was set alone on the street, not connected like the rest of the buildings were. There was a small well trimmed lawn area and it looked like it went around toward the back of the lot where there was a low structure with windows.

There was a light inside the church. He went to the window, and peered inside he saw that it was from another glowing cross. He saw no movement, and the pews were empty. He tested the window and felt that it would be hard to get into. Moving further back toward the long section of the L he saw where there were three steps leading down to a door going into the church. It was in the corner of the church and the building that L'd off of it. He stepped down to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. Without thinking his right hand instantly went to the upper inside jacket pocket and he pulled out a very slim black case about a long as his palm.

He looked at it quizzically. Taking his left hand he unzipped the little case and saw a thin flat metal tool, round on the end with a little wavy curve and a handle encased in what felt like a red rubber sleeve. The other small device was a flat piece of metal about an 1/8 wide that looked maybe three inches long. The medal was twisted making it into a L shape.

His mind told him they were picks…it was lock picking equipment. He let his hands move freely and in seconds, the door knob turned in his hand. He didn't hear any alarms go off so he quickly put the tools back in the little case, zipped it up and put the case back into his inside jacket pocket.

He moved into the little hallway and shut the door. There were small hall lights on the floor and he saw a back lit sign that said restrooms. He walked down toward them. He found the men's room and went in. Finding the light switch, he flipped it on and stood staring at his reflection in the mirror.

There was a tall man, green eyes, with what looked like spaghetti hanging off his head and the sauce running from his right temple. He stepped up close and saw that it was blood mixed with the sauce.

Just over his right eye brow was a large gash about four inches long and the whole area was swelling. He hadn't noticed it in the dark but now that he was in the light, he found he had having difficulty seeing out of the right eye. His clothing was spotted with all kinds of strange things. There was more spaghetti on his right shoulder, along with some kind of lettuce leaves clinging to his lapel. It looked like smeared chocolate cake, a least he hoped it was cake, across his left pants leg.

He stepped closer to the sink area and started peeling spaghetti, lettuce and, yes, it was cake, from his head and clothing. Using paper towels he carefully washed his hands and face, taking extra care around the wound, it was still bleeding. He got his face and neck clean. He noticed when the heater kicked on that in front of the vent there were cobwebs. He walked over to the vent, reached up, and captured the cobweb with the corner of a dry rolled paper towel; he walked back to the sink.

Leaning in toward the mirror he carefully layered the cobweb back and forth across the wound until all the cobweb was stuck to the wound. It quit bleeding. He looked at himself in the mirror.

How did he know to do that…?

He continued cleaning himself up. But the aroma from the garbage dumpster was still with him. Taking the jacket off, he laid it across the top of a stall and pulled his shirt out.

He pulled the holster and gun off, setting it in front of him on the sink. He raised the back of the shirt, and lifting the right side of the shirt out of his waistband he looked at the spot where the gun had been sitting against his back. There was a black and blue bruise about twice the size of the holster. That's what had been causing him the pain in his back. There was nothing he could do about it right now, there was no ice.

He took a couple more towels and soap and washed the spots on his trouser legs to clean them. Then he took and did the same to the jacket, laying it on the little counter top around the sink as he scrubbed and rinsed it several times.

The whole time the pounding in his head kept rhythm with his movements. Finally when he thought at least most of the stains were gone, as were the paper towels, he stopped cleaning.

He took a minute and looked at the wallets and the badge. He pulled the first one out, John Rooney said the drivers license with his picture…The other one said John Hays with his picture. Both drivers' license were issued from State of New York. Then he looked at the badge, a New York City Police Department badge…He set them all down on the counter, the wallets open and the badge in between them…

"Who the hell am I…?" He leaned his hands against the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He studied his eyes, his face, and the best he could figure was that his first name was probably John…He looked back at the wallets. "John, that's a start." He looked back at himself in the mirror. "John…Nice to meet you…John…" He rolled that around his tongue a couple times.

John decided he needed to go sit someplace quiet for a while. He cleaned up around the counter, stuffing all the paper towels he had used in the trash. Wiping the sink clean, he picked his wallets up and went to put them back in the jacket. The edge of the jacket thumped against the counter…There was something down in the corner of the jacket. He set the wallets back down next to the gun and badge. It took him a couple minutes but he found that one of the inside jacket pockets had a hole in it and as he worked the small compact lump up toward the hole he discovered a cell phone. It was very slim, ultra light and he figured it was expensive. He set the jacket back over the sink counter. The phone had been turned off. Finding the button he turned it on. It immediately rang.

A little startled he answered it. "Hello?" His voice was soft and unsure.

"Where have you been Mr. Reese? I have been calling you for hours." The voice was angry.

Great, either another last name or he had someone else's phone. "Ahh..I don't know?"

He heard hesitation on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. Reese are you alright?" The voice now sounded concerned.

John blinked at himself in the mirror, he wondered it he always looked that pale. He tried to form a question that would make everything clear. "What's my first name?"

"Excuse me?" Now the voice was now confused and sounded frightened.

"What's my first name?" He looked at the ID's he had set back on the counter and the badge. He heard an indrawn breath on the other end of the phone.

"You are currently going by John Reese. It is the name you like the most…but you have other names…" The concern was back in the voice. "John… are _you_ alright?"

"And who are you?" John knew his name, now he wanted who he was talking to. He heard that indrawn breath again and a distant _'oh my'_

"I am Mr. Finch and I want you to stay right where you are…I am coming to get you-."

"How are you going to find me…I don't even know where I am…?" He looked around the small restroom.

"Mr. Reese, I know where you are, and I am coming to get you…Stay there, do not move…I will be there in under twenty minutes…Ok…" Mr. Finch's voice had gone back to panic. "We can remain on the phone if you'd like… Are you injured?"

John looked at himself in the mirror again…He decided he needed to sit down somewhere. He walked into one of the stalls and sat down.

"John…are you injured?" The voice was now sounding breathless, hurried.

"Ah…My head…I have a cut over my right eye…" He felt his back throb…"Oh…and I think I fell on my gun."

"Fell on your gun?" The panic was back in the voice.

"Yes…I think so…I have a bruise on my back…where my gun was clipped…" He felt his world spinning… "Why do I have a badge…?"

"It's complicated John. Just stay there…Don't move…I am at the car and on my way…"

John felt himself lean back, felt the pain in his head explode. He thought he said something before the phone slipped from his ear… "That's alright Finch…I don't think I am going anywhere…" And he slumped down in the stall, braced against the cool metal of the divider…


	2. Chapter 2

Please read and review, it is how I learn, if you like it, let me know...If you don't let me know

Harold Finch felt panic as he drove through the streets of New York. Reese was injured; he seemed confused and didn't know where he was. That in itself was enough to give Finch a panic attack. Finch had never seen Reese when he wasn't in control of his mental faculties. He had seen him intoxicated, bloodied, drugged, and near death but and still able to know who, what and where he was.

The earpiece he was wearing in his right ear told him that the line was still open He had heard a sound like something slipping or falling and then there had been silence. But the line was still open. Then he heard a soft sound of pain and something mumbling. Then silence again, maybe breathing but he couldn't be sure.

"John I am almost there…John can you hear me….?" He shouted it into the receiver. His eyes quickly darted to the little red dot on the computer laptop screen sitting next to him on the passenger seat, and saw that it was still in the same spot. "John…Answer me, please…" His voice carried the worry, fear and anxiety he felt. He saw that he was less than three blocks away. He wanted to step down on the accelerator but he was already ten over the speed limit. Getting pulled over would accomplish nothing.

And then he heard something in the earpiece that sent shock waves through his body. The phone clattered to the floor. Reese had dropped the phone. Finch's mind instantly went back to the time he had found him delirious, drugged to the max in a drainage ditch. Finch's bodyguards had gotten him to his feet and with labored steps Reese had dragged himself toward Finch where he held out his hand and gave Finch the cell phone he had stolen/borrowed. The cell phone that had been a link to his safety he had held onto it even though unconscious.

Harold found himself holding his breath until he slid to a screeching halt in front of the address of the church. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned the GPS tracker on, paired it with the laptop, and as fast as he could he launched himself out of the car, and he hobbled toward the church.

He made his way along the side of the church until he came to the low building; the blip on his phone was to his left. He turned and saw the door. Moving awkwardly down the steps he reached the door and found it open. Going in he shut the door and glanced down at his phone. He was almost on top of the blip. Looking down the hall he saw the backlit restroom signs and headed for it.

Cautiously pushing the door open to the men's room he slowly stepped inside. The first thing he saw was a jacket on top of the sink counter. He wrinkled his nose as a smell engulfed him, rotten garbage. "Mr. Reese…are you-." He had stepped further into the room and that was when he saw the dark lump lying in the stall to his right.

Finch turned his phone off, pocketed it and moved to the open stall door. He stood still, taking in the problem before him. His right hand came up and adjusted his glasses as he looked the situation over…He saw Reese's phone lying by his foot, so he awkwardly bent and retrieved it, slipping it into his pocket.

Reese had collapsed to the left side of the toilet. It looked like he had tried to get to his feet and failed. His left shoulder was wedged down between the tank and the metal frame of the stall wall. His left leg was almost doubled under him, his knee wedged between the bowl and the wall. Reese's face was pressed against the metal wall and his shoulder. There was bloody cut over his right eye and it was bleeding,

Finch stepped into the stall and very carefully reached forward and felt for a pulse in John's exposed neck. It was fast and light. Finch's hand came back to Johns shoulder. "John, it's Harold…wake up…wake up John…" He shook John's shoulder…digging his fingers into the shirt. "Mr. Reese…wake up…!" He felt muscle twitch under his fingers and he stepped back.

Finch saw the swollen right eye try to open, watched as John used his right arm and tried to push himself back up into a sitting position.

"Mr. Reese…I am-."

Reese exploded, but it wasn't his normal cat-like reflexes. He shoved himself upright and twisted as he came out of the downed position, his right hand drawing back for a quick strike.

"JOHN!" Finch yelled and staggered back, stepping sideways a couple more steps, giving Reese open access to get out of the stall. He watched in surprise as he saw the slow reactions, jerky movements as Reese clambered to his feet and moved out of the stall. Finch saw no recognition in those green eyes.

John half straightened up, glaring at him with the one good eye. He put a hand to his forehead, his eyes blinking slowly, trying to get the man standing in front of him into focus. He wavered on his feet. He looked around the room and then back at the small man standing before him. "Who are you?" His eyes continued looking wildly about. "Where are we, what is going on…"

Finch held both hands out, palms up. "John, it is going to be alright." His voice was calm and even. "It looks like you've had a head injury…" He remained still, his hands still in the palms up stance, a submissive posture.

John centered his attention on the man standing in front of him… "Who are you?"

Finch smiled. "You can call me, Mr. Finch…do you remember?" He saw a puzzled look come to those green eyes, then he saw fear cross Johns face.

John put a hand back to his throbbing temple. "The only thing I remember is waking up in a dumpster a few blocks from here." His voice was raspy sounding. His lips twitched in pain. He put the hand he had at his temple to the side of his swollen eye, and he swallowed hard.

Finch lowered his hands, seeing the tension going out of John's shoulders. "Ok…this is what we are going to do…My car is parked out in front of the church. We are going to gather your things and I am going to take you to your loft where we will get you cleaned up and get your head bandaged…" He locked his eyes on John's. "John, remember, I will never lie to you and I will protect you until you can remember…You can trust me." He watched John's pale face move into that stone cold, fixed stare.

"Why do I have to trust anyone?" His voice was flat and cold. "You tell me who I am?"

"I will explain it all to you...but right now John, we need to get you to safety…Please Mr. Reese…You've trusted me in the past, trust me now." Finch gestured toward the jacket lying on the sink. "Let me gather your jacket." He stepped sideways and was almost to the jacket when Reese moved a little awkwardly and gathered the jacket, along with his ID's, the badge and the gun.

"I'll carry this…" He flashed the gun in its holster toward Finch, smiling a half smile, even though it looked funny with the swollen eye.

Finch gave him a sideways glance, then turned and faced him. "That's fine Mr. Reese…As you know, I don't like guns." As he turned and headed toward the door, he caught Reese's fading smile out of the corner of his eye. He kept his smile to himself.

POI

"This is my place? I must be rich?" Reese moved into the loft, slowly carefully.

"We can discuss that later." Finch followed Reese into the room.

Across the room were two ceiling to floor windows. To the right of those windows were more windows, but they only went from ceiling to about hip high. It was an open, airy floor plan. Past some stairs on the left, there was a bed. It was made and covered in a black and white swirl pattern comforter made of silk. Then there was a little work station, with two small adjustable lamps on the window sill. A black couch, with a floor lamp next to it, was sitting facing the windows and turned so that it also faced a 60"flat screen TV. There was a table for eating. It was wrapped around one of the two center support poles for the beam that ran across the ceiling. There was a bathroom in the corner next to the kitchen. Then there was the kitchen area: A Bialetti 3 cup Moka coffee pot sat on top of the stove which was against the red brick wall, a sink area and then the refrigerator. There was a breakfast bar dividing the kitchen from the rest of the room. The floor was made of light oak interlock strips. There were dark area rugs under the bed, the work table, the couch and the table. As he walked further into the room, just a few steps from the bed, looking sideways he saw the stairs went up to a little mezzanine area.

Finch was surprised that John had not questioned him about having a spare key that he had unlocked the door with. John did not say a word about the key. He watched as Reese walked slowly into the room and looked around.

"I don't have a lot of things, do I…?" He looked at the strange man that had come for him. He felt comfortable around him even though he couldn't remember who he was.

"You once told me you traveled very light and that you had nothing that you cared about as far as possessions…Hence, no pictures or personal items." Finch limped toward the table. "You've lived a bit of a nomadic life style." He turned and looked at him. "John, come and sit down. Let me take a look at your head." He gestured toward the chair he wanted him to sit in, not thinking he had picked a chair with its back to the open windows. He watched as John looked at the table, then the windows and took a chair facing the windows. Finch heard him set the gun and the jacket down on the table. Finch walked over to the bathroom that was on the other side of the kitchen. He found a first aid kit, fully stocked, in the sink cabinet. He knew it would be there. John had these stashed all over.

Finch got a small hand towel and wet it and taking the bag and the towel he went back to where John was sitting. He limped to the table and lifted the bag onto the top with a grimace, pain shooting up into his neck and down in his shoulders.

"How were you hurt?" John had silently sat and watched Finch as he hobbled around the loft.

"It was an accident." Finch let the pain in his neck subside, taking his time opening the first aid bag. He looked inside and inspected what was there. He pulled out gauze, tape, antiseptic cleaner, some kind of small tube that said antibacterial cream on the side.

John watched his reaction, saw the pinched look come to the owlish looking face. Now that he was sitting down again he was feeling better. "How do you know me?" He looked down, finding his hand was still resting on the gun. He lifted his hand from the gun and pulled out the IDs and the badge. His hands were doing the work, removing the items but his eyes were watching this Mr. Finch.

"Well…it is a bit of a long story…but you might say…" Finch looked at him directly. "You work for me…But we are more like business associates." Finch stepped toward Reese. "Could you turn a bit in your chair, to the left so I can get better light on the wound?"

Finch saw a narrowing of John's one good eye, he watched as he flipped the two ID's open and laid them along with the badge on the table.

"Who am I…?" His finger stabbed down at the first ID and then with the same finger he pushed the badge forward. "Am I a cop?"

"No you are not…You are a bit of a dilemma at this point." Finch stepped back and looked at the man before him. He had been pondering the problem the whole way back to the loft…Just how much could he tell him. If he told him he was wanted by the CIA, FBI, Federal Marshalls and the local police, would it be too much for him, or it could jolt him into remembering…He just wasn't sure. "Mr. Reese let's get the bleeding stopped first and then I will try and answer your questions." He saw Reese's one green eye blink and then John lowered his whole head; a look of concern came across his face. His face went blank as a memory flashed into his mind.

His voice was so low Finch had to bend down a little to hear what he said. "You've patched me up before…I was shot in the side and you were there…You helped me?" His hand went to his left side. He looked back at the man named Finch.

"Yes, you were shot and I took you to a doctor and got you patched up." Finch reached over with his free hand, and touched him on the shoulder. "Please Mr. Reese…Lean back and let me fix your temple." He gestured with the hand that had the wet cloth in it. He dropped his left hand as John moved.

John again straightened up and leaned his left side again the side of the back of the chair. "Ok, but when we're done I want answers."

Finch took a step closer and began to clean John's face with the wet towel. "This is a very deep wound." He cleaned all around it. It was a furrow about a half inch wide and a couple inches long. "I am not sure but it looks like a bullet grazed you?" He had felt Reese tighten his muscles as he started cleaning in and around the wound.

John closed his eyes, his face void of pain or emotion. When he spoke, his voice was a low and tight, his lips barely moving. "It needs stitching…Can you do it?"

Finch stammered. "What…I…I… What?" He moved back, his eyes going wide, his face paled.

A slight sigh escaped from John. He opened both eyes and the right one only half opened. He looked at Finch. Seeing the color had drain out of his face. Reese raised a left eye brow and regretted it as the thumping in his head grew another notch. "When I was in the church bathroom I knew it needed stitches."

"I've never stitched anyone up…Let me call a-."

"No!" Reese jerked his head toward Finch. "I can fix this…I-." He swallowed hard. The movement of his head caused his stomach to lurch and his head to spin. "I-."

Finch saw what color Reese had gotten back in his face drain and watched as his one good eye fluttered closed and he half fell toward Finch. Finch did the only thing he could. He tried to catch Reese and ease his body down to the floor…They both went down in a heap.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay, vacation got in the way. Again I don't own them, I make no money for writing these. Please read and review, if you like it let me know, if you don't let me know...thank you.

Finch felt the shock of landing on his back and then the weight of Reese's limp body slammed onto him and all the air went out of his lungs. He heard some strange sound come from somewhere, and bright lights sparked off behind closed eyelids as pain erupted up his spine, into his neck and back down again.

Struggling for breath, Finch tried to draw air into lungs that suddenly seemed to no longer work. With great effort to breathe, he attempted to push himself out from under Reese's body, which had fallen across his upper torso. Finch had several agonizing moments of panic.

Reese had landed across Finch's upper body. John's chest lay across Finch's stomach and left shoulder. John's head lay tucked in the hollow of Finch's neck. Finch finally sucked in a breath and the panic lessened. But the weight of John's body felt like it was crushing him.

Finch got his hands up and started pushing himself out from under John. It took a couple good shoves, but he finally managed to slip out from under the crushing weight and drew in a ragged, deep breath. He lay there trying to breathe normally. He reached up and squared his glasses on his face with his right hand. He glanced over at John. The pain in his neck and back had started to subside. Shooting pain shot through his body as he moved his head. Finch's eyes closed as tears formed. He breathed through the pain. There were continuous twinges now, but the need to help John set him in motion. He winced as he moved, but he moved.

John was on his stomach. His feet were tangled in the chair legs. His head was turned away from Finch, his left cheek against Finch's hand, the wounded side up. Finch had actually kept his left hand under John's head so his face didn't drop onto the floor as he had pushed himself free. Finch rolled to his left side and remained still for a moment, catching his breath. He saw that there was blood streaked across his suit jacket and shirt. Very carefully, he put his right hand to the back of John's head and gently slipped his left hand out from under Reese's head. The now free left hand was smeared with blood.

It took a moment but Finch got himself together and painfully got to his feet. Pain flashed up and down his back and neck. He had experienced this pain before, when he had been blown back by the explosion of a car bomb. He had hurt for days after that. He looked down at Reese's prone body, moving around so he could see his face. Blood from the wound was trickling across his face. Finch decided he needed to do something now, while John was unconscious. He limped back to the medical bag and found the thing he was looking for. Steri-strips. He had used these a couple times to help John bind small wounds. They were like a tape stitches. This he knew how to do.

Finding the wet cloth he took it, the strips and bandage material and went back to John's still body. He watched for a moment as John's chest slowly rose and fell. Finch drew in a breath and held it as he kneeled back down at John's right shoulder. He set everything down on the floor except the wet cloth. This he took and placed against the wound. He took a moment to let the pain subside from kneeling down. The flow of blood from the wound had slowed, but like most head wounds it was still bleeding.

Taking the cloth he gently wiped the area and saw that the bleeding was even less then he thought. With his left hand holding the cloth against the head wound, Finch reached for the strip package. He used his right hand and his teeth to open the packet that the strips were in. Just as he was becoming frustrated with the little package, he got it to peel open. He carefully set it down on the floor; there were six little strips of tape. Wiping above and below the gaping wound he got the area clean. Finch set the cloth down and picked up the package of strips and peeled one off.

Finch put the three inch strip of special tape on his thumb and index finger of his right hand. Then taking the cloth up with his left hand, he wiped the small amount of blood away. Dropping the cloth, he pinched the wound together with his left hand and layed the tape across the gash. He peeled his thumb away from the strip, pressed the tape against Reese's skin. Taking the opposite end, he pulled up a little and laid the tape over the wound, closing it up. He rolled his index finger out from the tape and pressed it against Reese's forehead. Finch quickly repeated the process five more times.

Finch's back and shoulders were screaming with pain. The pain caused him to sweat. It beaded and rolled off his face almost in rivulets, but he continued doing what was needed.

Reese had moaned twice, once as Finch had pinched the wound together and then again when Finch's finger had pressed a little too hard against the wound. But Reese had not regained consciousness. Finch wanted more then anything else to get to his feet, but he needed to finish. Taking the wet cloth, he again cleaned blood off Reese's face and forehead. He then opened the Teflon 4X4 wound dressing he opened that package. Peeling back the tape area, he put some of the antibiotic cream on it and covered the wound.

Sweat was running from Finch's face. The pain was so severe in his back and neck that he felt nauseated. With effort, he got to his feet and took the chair that Reese had fallen out of. He got it untangled from Reese's legs, pulled it away a couple steps and sat down.

Finch sucked in a ragged breath and tried to concentrate on the pain. He braced his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes. He tried to rest his back and neck by slowly relaxing his shoulders. He heard a small sound. Finch opened his eyes and tried to focus in on Reese's body

Reese was coming around. His arms and legs twitched, then lay still. His right hand flexed, drawing into a fist. A moan escaped from his lips. His right shoulder moved as he tried to roll over on his left side. The closed fist opened and he raised his hand to the bandaged area of his head. He rolled a little more, his head turned and he opened his eyes. The right eye was a mere slit.

Finch watched and waited, as he saw Reese look around, then the blood shot green eyes focused in on him. "Mr. Reese…" Finch's voice was low and pain filled, and his body was trembling. Finch swallowed, He saw no recognition in John's eyes.

"Who are you?" John moved up on his left elbow, looking around the room. "Where am I?" He raised his right hand and very gently touched his forehead again. His voice was a little deeper; there was an edge to it.

Finch felt like he was on a merry-go-round. "You may call me Mr. Finch." He pushed up with his arms, trying to sit straighter, but the shooting pains stopped him. His eyes closed momentarily, and when they opened there were filled with unshed tears. "We are in your loft." He saw a look of anger cross the smooth face. Finch drew in a deep, shuttering, pain-filled breath. He leveled his eyes on Reese, waiting. He adjusted his glasses, instantly regretting the movement.

Reese got to his hands and knees, and then rose to feet. He staggered slightly, his hand going to his head. "Who did you say you are?" He looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on the ID's, badge and gun on the table next to the man who said his name was Finch. He looked at Finch. "You a cop?" He lowered his hand from his head. He eyed the gun.

Finch remained still, as he tried to regulate his pain through his breathing. It wasn't working. He saw Reese's eyes stop on the gun. "No Mr. Reese, I am not a cop and neither are you." He drew in a breath, wincing as he did so. "Do you remember how you were hurt?"

Reese stood a little straighter, getting his bearings. He looked around the room again. "No." He touched his forehead again.

Finch gave him a long look. "You told me you woke up in a dumpster. You thought you had fallen from a two story building. Do you remember why you were there?" He felt a spasm run down his right side. He closed his eyes and held his breath.

"Are you hurt?" Reese looked at the man who called himself Mr. Finch.

Finch let the breath out and looked at Reese, the spasm let up. "You fell off the chair. I tried to catch you."

Reese's face darkened. "You said I fell of a building?" His voice carried anger.

Finch let a sigh escape. "Mr. Reese…You took a blow to your head. I found you in a church basement. I brought you back to your loft to stop the bleeding and you sat down in the chair I now possess and passed out. I tried to catch you. I should have let you fall…" Finch's voice was a matter of fact tone. His body remained still but, he shifted his eyes to look at Reese.

"Who are you?" Reese looked around the room again.


	4. Chapter 4

As always I don't own them. I receive no money for this. My reward is having you the readers review it, if you like it lat me know, if you don't let me know. I would like to thank Alice who took the time out to beta this before she went to the Première of POI's new season…oh so jealous

POI

Finch remained still. The wrenching pain was starting to subside. He knew it would if he remained still for a while. He shifted his eyes so he was looking at the railing for the stairs, the bed and part of one of the full length windows were in his view.

It had taken him a long time to purchase this loft. He had known about the long time friendship between Reese and Han. They had met as soldiers before Han had lost his eyesight. Reese had rediscovered his old friend after Finch had orchestrated a well thought out arrangement that had placed John in Oriental Park on just the right day and time. But the loft had come later than he had wanted, and it had to be renovated the way Finch had wanted it, a large airy space, three exits and of course, near an old friend.

Finch realized Reese was waiting for an answer. "As I said Mr. Reese, you can call me Mr. Finch. We are-."

"Why are you calling me Mr. Reese?" He spit the words out, anger showing on his face.

Finch shifted his eyes toward John. A question formed on his face. "What should I call you by?" His voice was soft, questioning.

John reached a hand to his head. He looked at the floor, then back up at Finch. A multitude of expressions crossed his face "I…My name is…" It wasn't panic…it was more like a look of hopelessness. His voice when he spoke was soft, child like, with a look of bewilderment in his eyes. "I don't know who I am…I don't know my name?"

Harold Finch drew in a silent breath and looked at Reese. "Your name is John Reese." He let a beat go by. "Mr. Reese, why don't you sit down" Very carefully Finch pointed toward the bed, which was slightly to the right of where he was sitting. With John sitting there it would mean he would not have to shift or move to talk to John and maybe John would relax. He watched as John walked over to the side of the bed and sat down.

John looked over at the man called Finch. "How do you know me?" He ran his hand over the silk weave of the comforter that he was sitting on, looking around the room. Absently he touched his right hand to his wound.

Finch looked at him for a moment. "John, I have known you for a long time."

"Are we friends?" John's green eyes shifted back to look at Finch.

Finch let a beat go by again. 'I would like to think so." He saw Reese's one good eye narrow slightly. Using the same hand he had used to point at the bed, Finch raised his hand in a gesture. "We have been working together a little over seven months now." He dropped his hand back down to his upper thigh and straightened just a little bit more. The spasms remained silent. "I employed you to help me with certain security and special projects that require your expert skills and knowledge."

Reese had been watching the man named Finch since he had sat down on the bed. The fear that was knotted in his stomach seemed to ease as the man spoke. He couldn't remember this man, but for some reason he just knew, and he didn't know why, but he knew he should trust him. "What kind of skills do I possess?"

Finch gave a small smile. "You are very adept at covert operations…" Finch was trying for words that might trigger Reese's memory

"Covert operations…what am I, a secret agent?" He laughed and instantly regretted it. He raised a hand to his head.

Finch drew a breath. "You worked for the CIA." He watched as Reese dropped his hand from his head and stared at him.

"You're kidding right?" Reese looked over at the man named Finch. "I worked for the CIA?" There was wonder in his voice. There was almost a smile of his lips.

"Actually you were one of their top agents…Your partner's name was Cara Stanton."

Finch watched for any recognition, his heart sank, as he saw none.

Reese looked down at his hands, and then he glanced around the loft, then back at his hands. He suddenly felt very helpless and it was a feeling he really didn't like. He looked across the room at the man sitting there. "I don't work for them any more?"

"No, you don't." Finch looked at him. "You left on rather unfriendly terms...Do you remember a man named Mark Snow?" Finch saw a reaction at the name. The expression on John's face, made him look like the John Reese he knew…That cold, hard look.

At the mention of the name Mark Snow, Reese felt anger surface. It was cold and hard but he didn't know why. "Who is Mark Snow?" He felt what he thought was rage boiling up in his chest.

"He was your handler…He gave you and Cara your orders…He set you up on your last mission with Cara. She was given the orders. Mark Snow told her you had been compromised and she was to eliminate you…" Finch held his hand up to John, stopping the question that John was about to ask. "Snow gave you the exact same orders, telling you the exact same thing about Cara…that she had been compromised and that you were to terminate her at the end of the mission…" Finch watched Reese's face

Reese looked down at his hands. Bitterness rolled into his mouth, fear and self loathing touched his expression. "I killed her?" The muscles in his jaw flexed and tightened down, something he never did it was a tell.

"No Mr. Reese, you didn't kill her, but she shot you…It took you two months to get out of Ordos, China and back to the United States." Finch pushed upright a little bit more. A twinge of a spasm shot from the right side of his neck down his spine. He drew in a breath to stop the moan that started in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away.

"Are you all right?" Reese saw the strange little man sitting hunched on the chair reel in pain. Instantly he felt a need to help. "Is there something I can do?" Worry touched his eyes. This man was his only connection to who he really was right now. If something happened to this man named Finch, what would become him? He started to move off the bed, but the Finch lifted his hand, slowly opening his eyes.

"I will be alright, this will pass." Finch thought for a long minute. "Mr. Reese why don't you clean up, change clothes…"

Reese looked down at himself, seeing the stains on his dress pants, and the dried blood smeared across both hands. He sniffed the air around him. "I was in a dumpster?"

"That's what you told me." Finch studied the man across from him, waiting, hoping that something would trigger the right memory.

"You said this is my loft?" Reese looked around the room again, marveling at the space and ambiance of the room. But it didn't feel like something he would own, something that he deserved to have. He heard the Finch say yes to his question. His eyes were looking at the floor but his mind's eye was showing him an array of low rent, flea infested rooms. He looked back up at the Finch. "This hasn't been mine for long?" He looked around the large loft again, looking for something that might trigger his memory.

"No, you've been here about a month and a half…" He wasn't going to tell him he had given it to him as a birthday present. "Do you remember something?" Finch had straightened some more in the chair, and he was now almost sitting erect.

His eyes came back to the Finch. "Seedy hotel rooms I think." He looked down at the floor and then back at the Finch. "Am I single?" He looked down at his hands again.

"Yes, you are single." Finch smiled. As he sat straighter, he started feeling better. The pressure he had been experiencing in his spine seemed to be relaxing, and the twinges and spasms were getting less and less severe. Finch actually thought he could stand now. He watched Reese as he got to his feet and headed to the bathroom. He waited.

Reese glanced to the bathroom and stood up. His head hurt as he moved but he didn't experience the dizziness. Walking toward the kitchen area, he ran his hand over the little railing area that split the kitchen from the rest of the room and then moved into the kitchen. He ran his fingers on top of the breakfast counter, which was dark granite. He looked over the counter toward the couch and the large flat screened TV. He slowly turned his head and studied the stove area. He stopped at the silver coffee pot. Looking at it for a long moment, his hand reached out and touched the dark handle, letting his fingers linger. He had a mental flash of pouring steaming coffee into a cup… But it wasn't this place. It was a place full of books. "Is there some place with a lot of books?" He looked back at the Finch, curiosity in his voice. "Lots of books?" He saw himself standing in front of a floor to ceiling book case.

Finch looked at him. "Yes, our… office is in a library." He moved weight to his feet.

Reese turned all the way around and looked at the Finch. "It's not an office." It wasn't a question but a statement. There was a change in his voice.

Finch had been looking at the floor as Reese spoke. He looked up, hearing the difference in his voice, watching a non-expression slide across Reese's face.

"Yes, you are correct…Sometimes you have called it Headquarters or HQ but most of the time you will refer to it as 'the computer'." Finch got to his feet and stood still for a moment, letting his body adjust to the small amount of pain he experienced as he stood, but his eyes were on Reese.

Reese felt a pull to the library. "Can we go there?"

"Yes, as soon as you get cleaned up." Finch moved toward the kitchen. "I will brew coffee for you while you are cleaning up."

Reese looked at him. "You don't drink coffee…" He had another strange memory flash. A paper cup with writing on the side of it…it popped into his minds eye. "Tea…you drink tea?" There was a hopeful look in his eyes. It made him look years younger.

Finch got a look of hope… "Yes…do you remember the name?"

Reese sighed deeply. The memory faded away. "No." He had placed both hands on the granite counter top of the breakfast bar. He slowly shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I have flashes of memories in my head…Like a broken picture reel." He looked up at the Finch, a fleeting look of despair in his eyes, his eyes shifted back to the counter.

His body seemed to grow smaller.

"Mr. Reese." Finch's voice was soft. John didn't respond. "Mr. Reese…" Finch saw John's eyes shift to him. He saw the one good eye focus on him, while the other eye was still almost swollen closed, but it didn't look as angry as it had. "You will remember…just give it time…I think you took a double shock to your head. First the bullet and then the landing." Finch adjusted his glasses. As he limped to the edge of the breakfast bar, he kept eye contact with Reese. "It will be alright."

Reese turned and headed toward the bathroom, hesitating at a door next to the bathroom door. The bathroom door was open, the other door was not. He reached out and opened the door, the smell of cedar floated out and a light came on inside the room. It was a walk in closet about twelve feet deep and six feet wide. The room was made of cedar wood. There were drawers on the left hand side and racks of clothing on the left. The racks contained of a couple dozen dress shirts, all solid colors, long-sleeved and collared. There were a dozen each of white, pale blue, dark blue, and black. Most were cotton but he saw at the end of the black shirts it looked like a couple shirts were silk. Then there were several dress jackets, dark blue and black and dress pants to match. He ran a hand over them as he walked down the line.

He turned, looking at the lay out of the wall. There were two sets of three- rowed drawers. A table top, about waist high, ran the length of the top of the drawers. At the back of the flat area was a mirror that not only ran the length of the drawers but also in the middle was a full length mirror, dividing the two sets of drawers. Above the mirrors were little cubby holes, some 12x12", others larger then that. He started pulling the drawers open. The first drawer held a multitude of socks, mostly black and white all neatly rolled and waiting to be pulled from the their row. The next drawer was underwear and undershirts. These again were all neatly rolled or stacked waiting to be put into use. The next drawer held T-shirts, an array of them. Crew neck, V-neck, long sleeve, short sleeved mostly dark blue or black. Over on the other side of the full length mirror the next drawer really surprised him. It had biker leathers: pants, jacket, chaps, gloves both in summer and winter weight. He looked up at the big cubby holes above the mirrors and saw three different bike helmets. But the biggest surprise came with the middle drawer. When he opened it, there was a small arsenal, closest to the door.

He reached down and touched the guns, mostly automatics. There was one he knew he should know the name of that had a small long barrel and a very small hand grip. He knew it was a very silent gun, but the name escaped him. His fingers lingered on it and a memory wanted to surface, but it didn't. All he saw was a tall, distinguished looking man, in a suit and tie, close cropped gray hair and piercing blue eyes; but it was a fleeting glance, and then it was gone. He stepped out and looked for the Finch. Panic started to swell in his chest when he didn't find him in the kitchen area. He heard a noise to his right and turned, seeing the Finch come out of the bathroom.

"I put the medical kit back." Finch gave him a long look. "You are going to change clothes?"

"Those are all mine?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the cedar closet.

Finch smiled, "Yes Mr. Reese…" adjusting his glasses "This loft belongs to you…and everything in it." Finch limped on past Reese and into the kitchen. He searched for the coffee, finding it.

Reese stood there a moment longer, again looking around the loft. This didn't feel like his. He turned and walked back into the closet, took clean clothes out and walked out and into the bathroom, closing the door. He set the clean clothes down on the rack next to the sink. He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror.

He ran a hand over his chin. It looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two. He leaned in and inspected the bandage over his right eye. Reaching up, he loosened one end of the bandage and saw the neat little strips holding the wound closed. Blood had dried around the strips. There was dark bruising around the wound and it looked like he would wind up with a black eye. It was as he started to straighten up that he felt a twinge in his lower right back. His reflection in the mirror showed a look of puzzlement. Carefully putting the bandage back in place, he started to take his shirt off. It was stiff in a couple spots and as he shouldered out of it two things happened. The smell of bad garbage wafted around him and his low right side hurt as he got the shirt off. It was then that he realized that it had been hurting, but he had been ignoring it, just like the headache he had. He tossed the shirt toward an open hamper and turned to inspect his upper torso in the mirror. He got a bit of a shock.

There was an old scar up in the hollow of his left shoulder. There were what looked like two or possibly three old and newer scars on his lower left side. There was a small dark bruise on his right side, as he turned his torso to the right, the bruise got larger and darker. It went all the way around his low back to the center of his spine, as he slowly turned and looked at his back in the mirror. He let a long low whistle out as he viewed the black and blue bruise that covered his lower right back.

A memory came in such a rush that it made him almost stumbled and fall. His hands grabbing the edge of the sink stopped him. The memory flash was him standing on the edge of a roof. It was dark and he was looking down into an alley. His hands held a pair of binoculars, but they were special, with night vision and he had been looking down into the darkness of the alley below. He heard a noise, a crunch of a footstep on the roof top and he spun. There was a muzzle flash and he felt a blazing white heat tear across his forehead. He was then suddenly falling over backwards, over the roof edging that was about four feet high and he saw himself falling toward a dumpster, the edge of it. Like a cat, he tried to flip around and he felt the edge of the dumpster catch him along the lower back as he slid off the edged and rolled into the garbage filled bin.

"Mr. Reese are you alright?"

Reese heard the Finch's worried voice, on the other side of the door. "Yeah…fine…" He looked at himself in the mirror, sighed and then turned and headed for the large shower curtain.

Reese pulled the elaborate cloth shower curtain back. The curtain was a swirl of reds, blacks and blues. He stared into the shower, amazed at what he saw. It was a multi head, deluxe shower, the size of a bear cave. He stood there and counted seventeen ports. There was the one top center and then staggered as they went in a curved dome were eight ports on each side, going all the way down to the floor. On the right side of the shower entrance there was a stainless steel control panel. The panel allowed him to set the flow of the water, set the heads that he wanted to use, and set the temperature of each of the water ports. He figured he had to have an engineering degree, because it would take such a degree to operate the shower. It was then that he also noticed, a little further to the right of the shower there was what looked like a full sized four person Jacuzzi.

Turning around he headed to the door, jerking it open he stepped out and searched for the Finch. He found him standing at the stove, watching the silver coffee pot steam.

"Are you sure this is my loft…that _I_ live here?" There was anger in his voice. "Do you know the arsenal I have in there?" He saw the Finch react, saw his eyes behind the large frame glasses widen. He watched as Finch drew himself up, then reached up and adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. Reese, as I have told you…" His patience was wearing thin the pain was back. "I don't care for guns. It does not surprise me that you would have an arsenal in your loft. You still have one at the library." There was a touch of anger in his voice. "Which by the way, you still have not removed." Pain twitched at his body, so he closed his eyes for a moment, regaining control of himself and the pain. "Mr. Reese, I know you think you don't deserve this loft, but I assure you that it _is your_ loft. You hold the papers on it even though it was purchased through a proxy corporation to protect your name. It is yours for as long as you want to own it…Now go take a shower." Finch gave him a hard look. He watched as the anger faded from Reese's face.

"Sorry…" Reese gestured with his hands in a sign of peace. "I just…this is…" He huffed. "I-."

"Mr. Reese…Go take a shower." Finch's voice had softened. "I know it has to be very frustrating for you. You have always been a man who is in control of your mind and now…" He was sorry for the display of anger.

It was said as a sigh, under his breath. "You have no idea." He turned and started back into the bathroom. Perhaps a shower would help. He shut the door and headed to the shower, vowing to conquer it.

Finch had kept his gasp from becoming audible as Reese had turned and Finch had seen the full width of the deep, dark bruise covering the right half of his lower back. He cringed at the thought of how Reese had received it.


	5. Chapter 5

As always I do not own them, make no money from this. Please read and leave a review, if you like it let me know, if you don't let me know...it is how I learn..

Reese had been pretty silent since he had come out of the bathroom. He sipped at the coffee the Finch had made and paced around the loft, touching everything. He said his head was hurting a little, but there was no dizziness. He said nothing about the bruise on his back. His pacing continued.

Reese had dressed in a white dress shirt, dark blue dress jacket and matching slacks. He had found four long coats in a little closet just inside the entrance to the door. The first was a navy Peacoat that was double breasted; the next was a London Fog Coventry overcoat, third and fourth were long black overcoats with no labels in them. He selected the Coventry overcoat, pulled it out and went through the pockets. He found nothing in the pockets, but he did find a slot sewn into the left side that held a Slim Jim. Reaching back into the closet, he found one in each coat at the exact same place. Looking at the long thin piece of metal, he slid it back into its little slot in the coat, mumbling to the closet. "I must be a hit at parties?"

"Excuse me Mr. Reese. I couldn't hear what you said?" Finch had gone back to sitting in the chair as Reese paced the room.

"Sorry, was just making an observation." He started pacing again, taking another lap around the room.

"How is the headache?" Finch watched as he paced, following him with his eyes, while keeping his body still.

He stopped long enough to get another refill on his coffee. The Finch had made another pot for him. Reese paused at the window looking down, seeing a selection of illuminated tables and potted plants in a park area. He turned and looked at the Finch sitting so motionless. "It's still there. How are the spasms doing?" He saw the slightest of smiles touch the thin lips.

"They are getting better." Finch reached up and adjusted his glasses. He saw Reese look out the window again. He knew Han, Reese's old friend would be in the park later on that morning. He watched as Reese's eyes scanned the view outside the window. It was still dark outside but the park was lighted at night. "Have you had any more memory flashes about why you were on the roof or who you were following?" He saw Reese turn his head toward him. He could almost see the color of Reese iris in the right eye.

"No…just the fact that I was shot and fell…" He looked back through the window, focusing in on his own reflection in the window. Inside he felt a great emptiness, some kind of loss but he couldn't quite grasp it, just like his memory…there was something there, something sitting on the edge…something…He drew a deep sigh, sipped at his coffee and started to pace again.

When Reese finished the coffee he said he wanted to go the place where the books were. He was becoming more restless. Finch said he thought that was a good idea, they gathered what was needed and headed out.

Finch pulled into the parking garage down the street from the library and selected a spot where the car would be kept under surveillance.

"This doesn't look like a library." Reese did a slow motion head turn and looked across the seat at the Finch.

"We have a short walk to the library entrance." Finch shut the car off, opened the door and stiffly got out. The spasms had become just short jabs of pain that seemed to be getting less severe with each passing moment. He walked to the end of the car and waited as Reese got out.

Reese got out of the car and looked around. Nothing seemed familiar.

"Have you had any more thoughts about who you were following?" He saw those green eyes shift toward him.

"No. Why?" He saw something in Finch's eyes. "What aren't you telling me?" He moved toward the end of the car and gave the Finch a long look.

"I…I am not exactly sure who you were trailing or why." He shifted and put his hands in his pockets. "And the fact that they shot you…And I don't know where you were…" He glanced down at the floor. "Your cell phone was off, so the GPS tracker could not locate you." He brushed at his jacket. He had gotten most of the blood off the jacket. "You told me you had a lead on our number-."

At the mention of the word number, Reese actually put a hand on the side of the car to steady himself.

Finch saw Reese's face lose a little color. "Mr. Reese, perhaps you should sit back down in the car?"

John became still. "Numbers…That's all you get…Numbers…there is a list…a diagram...something with a lot of numbers on it." He saw himself standing in front of a board with pictures, numbers and lines running from one to the other. He looked over at Finch, checking to see if his memory was right.

"Yes…" Finch smiled. "We work with nine digit numbers…" He was hoping the word nine might trigger more memories. An odd little smile touched his lips. "You frequently refer to it as '_The_ List'." He watched as Reese's color returned as he pushed off the side of the car.

Reese looked over at the slight-built man. There was that word again. _'the'. _He reached up and touched the side of his head. The headache wasn't really bad, just annoying. He tugged at his neck and sighed, then gestured for the Finch to lead on. He glanced around the parking building one more time. The memory of what he had seen in his mind's eye had stayed, just like the flash he had gotten in the bathroom about being shot.

"How far is it to this library?" His voice was demanding. He was feeling frustrated. These little flashes were maddening. He sighed and put a hand to his head again, closing both eyes for a long moment.

"It's a short walk, a couple blocks." Finch looked off into the darkness of the parking garage. He looked back at Reese. "Perhaps we should wait. We can go back to the loft-."

John opened his eyes, the right one still just a mere slit, but it did open. "No…I'm sorry…I…It's just that these little flashes of memory…Why can't I just remember everything now…" He nodded toward the exit and took a step toward the Finch

Finch turned and started walking.

Reese fell into step beside him. He matched his step to the halting gate of the Finch. It was then that he realized that when he thought about the man at his side he put a 'the' in front of his name. He glanced over at him, he was walking on the Finch's right side, so his one clear eye looked him over, he was beginning to see more out of the right, but it was still a little fuzzy. Reese drew one side of his mouth up in a half smile. "I have a question for you?" He voice was a raspy sound. He saw the Finch glance over at him.

"That is normal. You are always plying me with questions." Finch hobbled along. "What is your question?" He glanced over at Reese again.

"Is your name really Finch?"

Finch walked a few more steps and moved out of the parking garage, turning to his left. It was very early in the morning and the streets of New York we just starting their day. Down the block he saw two men walking on the opposite side of the street, walking toward their direction. "Mr. Reese, just like you I have used several different names over the course of my life. Finch is the name you know me by." He looked sideways at Mr. Reese, also seeing that the two men walking on the other side of the street in the opposite direction, were now past them and they were continuing their path. Finch was a little breathless now. Walking was aggravating his back muscles. The pain was flaring up.

Reese saw that the Finch was having difficulty. He smiled. "Can we stop for a moment?" Reese stopped. He looked down toward a corner building that looked under some kind of construction. It had covered construction walk ways and no trespassing signs all around it.

"Do you remember somethi-." Finch stopped half a step after Reese and was turning back toward him when they both heard the footstep behind them.

They both turned to see that the two men from the opposite side of the street had crossed and come up behind them, only now one had a gun in his hand.

He was middle aged, overweight, balding and had beady eyes in a fleshy face. "Give us your wallets…now!" He thrust the gun forward for emphasis. His partner's face was hidden in the darkness of a hoodie. He was as tall, but rail thin.

Reese heard the Finch gasp. But as the gun was thrust forward Reese reacted. Reaching out with a snake like move, he grasped the wrist that held the gun with his left hand and twisted it sideways. His right hand shot out slamming his closed fist between his hand and the others man's elbow. The sound of breaking bone was audible in the silence of the street, as a scream erupted out of the fleshy face. Stripping the gun from the now useless hand, he stepped forward and he saw a knife flash in the hand of the partner. His next step came forward and he lifted his right foot and planted it squarely into the exposed chest of the man in the hoodie.

The guy in the hoodie expelled foul breath with a whoosh and went sailing backwards into the side of the wall, where he bounced and fell to the ground in a heap. Spinning back, Reese sent his right hand fist into the fleshy jaw and stopped the screaming. The man fell to the ground unconscious like his friend.

It had taken all of a few seconds to dispatch the two criminals. Reese moved out of the defensive position he had taken and looked at the two in the early morning light. "You two need to get a new profession." His face carried that serious look. He pocketed the gun and turned back to the Finch. "That felt good." He bent and retrieved the knife, pocketing that also. His head hurt some, but it had really felt good to punch something.

Finch, recovering from what had just transpired, gave Reese a long look. "Well I am glad you remember how to defend yourself…" He was visibly shaken with what had just happened. He looked down at the two would-be muggers. "Could these two be from the roof?" He looked at Reese.

Reese pulled the gun back out of his pocket and looked at it briefly. "Wrong caliber." He tucked it back in his pocket. He actually felt better.

"Should we call the police about them?" He watched Reese's face in the early morning light. He looked suddenly years younger.

Reese looked over at the two men on the ground and shrugged his shoulders in his coat. Glancing around the street, they heard a police siren in the distance. "I think someone has already called them."

"Mr. Reese, we need to go…Now!" Finch turned and started limping away.

Reese took one more look around and followed him.


	6. Chapter 6

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They entered from the construction side. Going through a little gate, Finch walked toward the side of the building. He opened the small door with a key. The door admitted them into a dark, large, arched hallway.

Reese walked about half way in, but things were not feeling right. He stopped and looked around. He suddenly felt very anxious. "What is this?" Reese looked at the high arched ceiling. His headache was starting to pound. It didn't look like any library he had ever been in. Warning bells along with the pounding went off in his head. His mind was racing. Where was he being led? Two men had just tried to attack him. He had been shot at and the only connection to all of this was the little man leading him into an abandoned construction site. He reached down into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the twenty-two caliber Saturday-night special.

Finch stopped, turned and looked at Reese. He felt a touch of concern at seeing the subtle change in Reese's expression. The distrust was back in Reese's eyes. Finch hadn't seen that look in months, and now it was present again. In the beginning Reese had been unsure and wary about everything Finch had shown or told him. Reese had questioned him again and again about what he was doing and how he was getting the information. It had been frustrating. He knew Reese was just trying to get the whole picture, but he had been alone so long without someone questioning his every move, and now it was back. Maybe now was the time?

Finch looked around the arched hallway, adjusted his glasses and looked at Reese. "Mr. Reese, the numbers we receive lead to people who are about to have a major problem in their life…" He saw he had Reese's attention… "They are in danger or could possibly put someone else in danger…A life threatening danger. We never know if they are the victim or the perpetrator of a violent crime. But, one thing we know for sure is that some person's life is in danger and we can stop it from happening by getting there in time. And that's what you do…You stop bad things from happening-."

"Bad things happen to people all the time…You can't stop that." There was anger in his voice; his eyes locked in on Finch. He stepped toward him. "There is no way-."

"Mr. Reese!" Finch's voice also carried a touch of anger, and he instantly regretted it. He was tired. His shoulders actually slumped and he lowered his head slightly. He felt exhausted; he had not slept in two days. He knew Reese could go several days with only little cat naps here and there, but he couldn't. Looking down at Reese's feet for a moment, he regained control. When he looked back up there was tiredness in his eyes, and the anger was gone. "We've had this conversation…close to a year ago." He glanced away from Reese and then looked back. "I realize this is hard for you-." Finch's eyes widened, he saw Reese grab his head with both hands, bending over, gasping in pain. He started back toward Reese. Worried and concerned for his friend, he watched him stagger and almost fall.

The memory came like a baseball bat slamming into Reese's head. Pain erupted. In his mind's eye, he was on a subway or a train. Out of his own eyes, an image in the window of the train or subway car reflected back at him. He saw a dirty, long haired, bearded man looking back at him. Reese felt bile rise in his throat, He could taste alcohol as the vision continued and he glanced around the car to see several young men lying on the floor of the train, bleeding. Then his mind flashed and he was standing in a park, holding his hand out straight, a gun in his hand. There was an overwhelming sense of sorrow as he saw the grey haired man in the suit from the earlier memory flash and Reese pulled the trigger. That was where the Wellrod gun had come from. He was a killer. Reese staggered, still bent over, moving to the wall in the so called library, he put his hands out to catch himself from falling. His life flooded into his mind's eye so fast that he felt suddenly totally disoriented. Every joy, every pain, sorrow and heartbreak, every threatening experience, every life he had taken slammed into him like a Mack truck striking him physically.

The next moment his mind showed him another flash. He was standing, looking at a beautiful, blond haired woman. She was smiling up at him and asking him to tell her to wait for him that she would wait for him if he asked. He had been on his way to his first CIA assignment, and standing there he had weighted everything he had done in his life up to that point and he knew in his heart that this woman would wait for him. But he also knew that she deserved someone clean, without blood on his hands. He had done things that he had been told were necessary, for his country, and he had done them with no hesitation. That was why he had been recruited by the CIA. He had to let her go. He wanted her to be safe and happy. His hand was reaching out to her. There were tears in her eyes. _'I waited for you'. _The hurt and pain in her eyes cut him like a knife. And then he knew she was dead…he could see it in her eyes…She was dead and he had caused it…Shame, then anger, wrapped themselves around what was left of his mind, and he folded in on himself.

Reese staggered, bumped his shoulder against the wall and put his back to it. Sliding down into a crouched position, his whole body shook. His hands were pressed against his temple. The pain from the head wound was throbbing. But the pain of remembering was even greater. There were bright flashes going off behind his closed eyes, and from somewhere far away he could hear Finch calling his name. He wanted to die…wanted to cease existing wanted to stop the pain of remembering.

"Mr. Reese? John?…what's wrong?" Finch moved to hover in front of him, panic written across his face. He felt so helpless, so useless. He started to get down on his knees. "John what can I do?"

Reese's voice was a hissing snarl. "Harold…Your name is Harold…" He looked up between his hands, still holding his head. "Get away…!" There were unshed tears in his eyes. His face was twisted in pain… "I am a monster…Why did you save me?" He drew in a gasp of air… "I remember…Oh God…Jessica…I couldn't save her…I couldn't get there….I…" He curled up into a ball, drawing his legs up and rolled sideways, lying on the floor. His hands covered his head as he tried to curl his long frame into tighter ball.

When John hissed at him, Finch straightened up and stepped back. He saw the anger and self loathing in Reese's face before he rolled sideways, curling into a protective position. Finch drew in a deep sigh and let it out slowly. His voice was soft, just a whisper "You are not a monster. All you needed was a chance, just like we all do." He let a small sigh escape as he said it.

Finch moved toward Reese's prone body. He carefully sat down next to John's tightly coiled body, seeing silent sobs racking his frame. There was no sound. Finch felt tears of his own form over what he was watching John suffer through. He was unsure what to do next, so he sat quietly next to John's head and shoulders. Finch straightened his legs out in front of him, his back resting against the wall and after a moment, he reached out and placed his arm protectively over Reese's shaking shoulders.

He sat and waited.

POI

Finch woke slumped over, leaning against one of the uprights of the arched columns beams. It took him a long minute to become fully cognizant of where he was and what had happened. He winced as he straightened up. Craning his shoulders sideways so his head could move to the right, there was no Reese lying next to him. Finch adjusted his glasses. He looked around the hallway. "Mr. Reese?"

Reese stepped out of one of the recessed doorways across the hall. "Here." He voice was husky and low. His face was devoid of emotion. His right eye was swollen shut again; his left eye was deep green against the redness in the sclera. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of the London Fog overcoat. He walked the short distance to where Finch sat and looked down at him. He saw Finch try and move, trying to get off the cold floor, sand saw the pain it was causing. Taking his hand out of his pocket, he bent and offered his hand to Finch. "Come on Harold; let me help you up."

Finch took the offered hand. Reese's hand wrapped around his wrist, making a smooth pull upward. Finch felt himself being pulled gently to his feet. He glanced at Reese's expression; there was a deep sadness there.

Reese made sure Finch was steady on his feet, before he let go and stepping back. His good eye was cast down, looking at something on the floor. His whole demeanor was one of defeat. He glanced up at Finch and then back at the floor. "I still have some holes in my memory." He moved further away by a few steps. "I remember the two men that shot me. I saw their faces in the muzzle flash, but I can't remember who I was following, or who our latest number is."

Finch took the time to straighten his tie, his jacket and he ran a hand over his hair. He had slept hard. Two days with no sleep had taken its toll. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearing noon, and he felt a bit of a shock at the hour. The whole time he was still watching Reese and assessing him. "Perhaps seeing their faces…up on the board will help." He saw Reese glance briefly at him, then look away.

Finch turned and headed for the far end of the arched hall. He continued making his way in the dimness of the hallway. There was ambient light coming in from the opposite end of the hall, as the sun was well up in the sky.

Reese glanced around the hallway but followed Finch as he walked down toward the opposite end and then turned left into another door. Stepping inside the door, He saw that the room was littered with books and trash. Many of the books lay scattered on the floor. He followed Finch to a curved set of stairs looking up, he stopped.

Finch was half way up the stairs when he realized Reese wasn't behind him. He stopped on the staircase, turned and looked back down at Reese who was on the bottom step. Finch was breathing hard from the physical exertion of climbing the stairs. "Mr. Reese…are you alright?" Worry crossed his face; fear that another memory episode was coming. Reese had a strange look on his face.

He reached out and touched the banister on the stairs. His hands caressed the wood. He stood on the bottom step but did a 360 turn around. "I'm fine, just remembering." He looked up at the Finch standing above him.

Finch watched as John did another 360 and then followed him up the steps to the next level. Finch walked around the corner of the landing area of the second floor and headed into a narrow hall that was lined with rows and rows of shelved books. Coming to a T intersection, he turned right. On the left side, he walked past several windows that looked out into a large open topped courtyard garden area that had gone wild over the years. On the right side of the hallway, there were a couple frosted glass offices and a restroom; then it opened into another section of books. There was a locked expandable gate across this area. Finch pulled another key from his pocket and opened the lock and pushing the gate sideways, to allow enough room for him to pass.

Finch turned and looked at Reese who was lingering between the T and the gate. He was looking out the windows, looking down at what at one time had been an award winning designer garden. Now it was a small jungle.

Finch glanced at his computer desk as he walked by it and headed to the right extension of the hallway. The area was about fifty feet across and was shaped in a half circle with windows on the outer wall, overlooking the jungle. From here three different branches of hallways extended like a labyrinth from that open area. Finch walked to the Diesel Generator that sat on the floor. He very slowly knelt in front of the generator, holding his breath as small spikes of pain erupted up his back.

He checked on the six batteries nestled behind the generator and saw that the indicator light was still half green. The batteries were an electrical source for the series of 'night lights' that were strategically placed throughout the building.

The generator powered his computer system and all six screens attached to it. He pressed the start button, saw the indicator light for the glow plug come to life and hit the starter button. It was a very quiet generator. Finch had spent extra money for the silent exhaust system. Using the generator to steady himself, he got to his feet and looked up at the piping that sent the exhaust out through the roof. Finch turned and saw John standing just inside the gate. He watched as Reese took the room in.

Reese stepped to the desk and reached out to touch it like it wasn't real. He placed all ten fingers on the top of the desk, his eyes looking at the computer screens as they came alive. The center one was the only one that went past the start screen. It sat patiently waiting at the command prompt for a password. Reese glanced at the generator as Finch moved toward his office chair. There was another chair pulled up at the corner of the desk, but it wasn't an office chair. Reese looked over to a wooden framed, clear glass board that had several pictures and papers taped to it.

Stepping around the desk, he walked the short distance to the glass board and looked at the pictures hanging there. His eyes studied the pictures and text. Two of the pictures had extra paperwork attached to them.

The papers contained information about their numbers that hey were working; aka's, home addresses, club associations. Both had wives and children. There were several surveillance pictures on the glass board. Reese turned his head, looking at Finch who had sat down behind the computer screens and was busily typing on the keyboard. "I was tailing these two." There was a frown on his face. He looked back at the photos. "They are fight promoters…" He reached a left hand out, extending his index finger to the picture on the left. "This guy sets the fights up, his finger moved to the other picture. "This one handles the fighters." He looked over his shoulder at Finch.

Finch was now in his element. He looked up from the screens and adjusted his glasses.

"Yes Mr. Reese, that's exactly what they do." Finch saw John look past him, and watched his face draw down in a look of curiosity.

Reese moved toward the desk but went around and toward where the generator was sitting, between rooms. He had seen something he had seen in one of the memory flashes. He walked into the room and saw another table with a closed laptop on it. He knew this was the wireless system Finch sometimes used. Next to it were two thin computer monitors that could be hooked up to it. Harold sometimes worked in here, with his list. John turned and saw the list.

John stood staring at the list for a long time.

Finch was running searches, trying to find out what had happened in the last twenty four hours. He didn't hear Reese come back into the room. He jumped a little as Reese spoke right behind him.

"I was trailing one of Anderson's fighters." Reese saw the twitch that Finch made, he looked down at him, reaching out he briefly touched him on the shoulder as he moved. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump." He moved around to stand where Finch could see him. "His name is Jerrod. I think he was the one in danger?"


	7. Chapter 7

Please read and review, if you like something let me know, if you don't let me know...As usual, I don't own POI, make no money from it, my reward is your review.

Reese had taken the overcoat off and hung it in the corner. He made himself coffee and Finch Sencha Tea. He was now standing; arms crossed over his chest, looking at the computer screens as Finch was pulling up the data he had requested. Finch had argued that The Machine had given them Anderson and Phillips' socials, not Jerrod's. Reese was staring out the windows. The sun was starting to set.

"Looks like Jerrod "the Hammer" Wilson is on the card for tomorrow night." Finch turned his whole body to the left to see Reese. "Are you sure about the policy?"

Reese put a hand to his temple, closing his one good eye for a long moment. He didn't open it when he spoke. "I saw it when I was snooping around Phillips' office, it was for a hundred thousand dollars and if I read it right, it was only good if Jerrod dies outside the ring." There was a little frustration in his voice.

Finch was also running a search program on the computer for National Insurance Company, the company that carried the policy on the fighter, taken out by Anderson and Phillips. He looked again at Reese, seeing the tiredness in his face. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down for a while and rest." He saw the one good eye open and glare at him. He noticed that the swelling over Reese's right eye looked bigger. He was starting to sport a black eye under the wound. He whole eye socket was blackening.

"Harold… I am fine..." Reese turned and walked off a few steps, looking at the glass board. He put his right hand to his temple, pressing his fingers against the side of his head. His mind kept trying to tell him something, remember something. There was something he needed to check on, something he needed to do. He was getting frustrated with himself again, the harder he thought about it the more illusive it became.

"In that case, I would-." Finch's phone rang. Reaching into his pocket he pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. He put the phone to his ear. "Detective Carter?" He listened for a moment. "He is here with me." He got a puzzled look on his face and then reached into his other coat pocket, pulling out John's phone. "Yes Detective…He is standing right here." Finch handed his phone to John, seeing a look of irritation on his face. He shifted his attention to John's phone, inspecting it he turned it over in his hand. He found it was powered off. He hadn't thought about it since he had dropped it in his pocket at the church.

John took Finch's phone and put it to his ear. He listened for just a brief moment, listening to the background noises, he knew from the sounds she was in a restaurant. "Hello Carter." His face did not change expressions. "Messages?" His voice was soft, raspy. His eyes went to Finch's hands and his phone. He listened as Carter told him she had found what he had asked her to look into and she had sent the files over to his phone. But when he hadn't responded she had tried calling him and texting him. Getting no response she finally called Finch's phone.

"Sorry Carter, been a busy couple days…" Just a touch of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip. "If you haven't ordered yet, try the Fish and Chips…they are very good there." He listened as she made a comment about how he knew where she was. He didn't tell her that he had heard someone in the background say 'Welcome to Salties.' She made another comment. "Thank you Carter I'll see if we can do that…"

Finch played with the phone for a couple minutes. Apparently when he had put it in his pocket at the church he had accidently turned it off. He turned the phone on, the light came on, the phone flash and they heard several chirps.

John saw the phone power up. "Yes, the messages are coming in now…Thank you." He listened for another brief moment, his face pulling down in a frown. He handed Finch back his phone, indicating that Carter wanted to talk to him. He reached forward and retrieved his phone off the desk where Finch had placed it, it was still chirping.

Finch took his phone back and placed it to his ear. "Yes, Detective Carter?" He listened for a brief minute, glancing at John who was looking at the messages on his phone as he walked away a few steps. "Yes you are correct...but how did you know?" He looked back at Reese who had stopped and swiveled his head around to look at Finch, hearing the tone in the other's voice, his one good eye narrowing. Finch smirked. "Yes, I will tell him, and thank you Detective. Goodbye." He pulled the phone from his ear, disconnecting the call, but remained looking at Reese.

Reese didn't say anything. He just turned all the way around facing Finch, and gave a little gesture with his chin, the frown stayed.

Finch looked back at the computer screens. "She knew you had been injured, she said, she heard it in your voice and she told me to tell you to 'take care of yourself'." Another smirk touched the corner of Finch's lip. "She also said she will order two fish and chip dinners and meet you in her car…she said you know the place." Just shifting his eyes he glanced at Reese.

Reese stood there with that frown on his face. "I don't have time for a social-."

"She has a file for you that she couldn't take a chance of copying, she has it with her and she will give it to you then." Finch watched him, evaluating him for a moment. He knew John hadn't eaten in quite a while, he had offered to share the can of soup he had heated up but John had turned it down. Maybe Carter could get him to eat.

"I will continue to see what else I can find on Jerrod while you go meet with Detective Carter." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out keys to the town car, dropping them on the desk. "Take the car." He went back to typing on the keyboard.

Reese stood there with the phone in his hand, he looked down at the message screen, looked at the keys and then at Finch. He walked toward Finch, sweeping the keys off the desk, muttering under his breath. "Jeezz Dad…thanks…." Without saying another word, Reese walked down the hall but not toward the exit. He went back to his little arsenal as Finch called it.

Finch timed his move perfectly. As John rounded the corner going out of view, Finch lifted his feet and push hard, away from the desk toward the coat rack where Reese's overcoat hung. He dropped the tracking device inside the inner coat pocket and shoved himself back to his desk, sliding smoothly back into the spot as if he had never left.

Reese had left his automatic at the apartment at Finch's insistence, and he wanted more than the Saturday Night-Special that was in the pocket of the over coat. He selected a gun from one of the bags and headed back, past Finch and the computer. "Be back in a few Finch…" He grabbed his coat as he headed out of the room.

"Please keep in contact Mr. Reese."

After Reese had walked past him, Finch brought up a small window on the screen to his left; it was a city grid map with a small red blip moving across the grid…It was Reese's phone. Next, Finch brought a second tracker up and watched as they moved in unison. He now had him with the cell phone and the tracking device he had put in the coat.

POI

Reese parked the car a block away from where he was to meet Carter. He got out, dropped some quarters in the meter and slowly walked down Hide Street. It was a quiet neighborhood; trees lined the street on both sides. Most of the buildings were apartments turned into condos. Unconsciously, he touched the right side of his face. He cut between buildings and came out on a narrow one way street. Turning right, heading in the direction of traffic, he saw the Detective's car parked at the curb.

He walked to the passenger side, opened the door and slid in. "Good evening Detective." He glanced over at her with his one good eye. The right eye was still swollen but not totally closed, the vision still blurry. The car smelled like Fish and Chips.

She glanced at him, started to say something and looked at him again, leaning in toward the steering wheel to get a better look at his face. "Well you look like shit." She turned in her seat and moved the food containers a little. "What the hell happened to you?"

He continued to look out the windshield. "I fell off a roof." His voice was flat, non-emotional.

"A roof?" She tried to lean a little closer to him to get the full effect, but he turned his face so she only got the uninjured side of his face. "And how did you fall off a roof?"

He ignored her question. "Finch said you had a file for me?" He started to put his right hand to his head and stopped himself.

"Oh…no…you just don't waltz in here, tell me you fell off a roof and let it go at that…" She saw him glance over at her at her. "John...What happened?" She saw something cross his face that tore at her. She saw doubt in his face for a fleeting moment.

"I'm not totally sure…I was shot-."

"Shot!" She reached a hand out and touched his coat, with her other hand she flipped the interior lights on, seeing his eye squint as she did. She saw the pallor of his face and pushed his shoulder back so she could lean forward and see his face. She saw the left eye close against the interior light.

She drew in a quick breath as she leaned further over toward him and saw the bandage over the swollen area of his right eye. The tissue around the right eye was already black and a red streak was pooling under the skin. The wound was leaking blood under the skin. She knew he needed to be laying down someplace with an ice bag over his face. "John…"

"Carter I am fin-."

"No you are not…John, you need to get some ice on that face and you need to rest." Before he could moved she reached forward, flipped the interior light off and started the car. She had pulled away from the curb and was down the street before he could react.

"Carter , what are you doing?" His voice came as a sigh.

"We are going to find a place to hole up and you are going to get some rest and TLC…" She glanced at him as she heard a noise come from his throat.

"Carter…Joss…I can't right now…Something bad is about to happen and I need whatever information you can give me."

"Let's make a deal. You rest for a couple hours. Get an ice bag on your eye and I'll track down whatever leads you want me to…" She looked over at him, seeing his face half turned toward her. A wicked smile came to her full lips, her eyes sparkled. "Either that or I will handcuff you and take you in…" She chuckled as his head did a slow swivel and the one good eye narrowed and that frown he got when he was upset touched his lips. "We are just around the corner from Darby's hotel." Her smile went a little crooked. "They won't think nothing of us checking in for an evening. The rooms are clean and pretty sound proof."

Carter turned the corner and drove about half a block and turned into a parking lot. It was a three story building, shaped in a horseshoe with a surprising amount of ample parking. "Stay put…I'll get us a ground floor room." She left the car running, jumped out and hurried into a door marked "Office". She was out in less than three minutes, with a key.

John had actually put his hand on the car door and was going to disappear, but a hurried look didn't produce the folder Carter had promised him.

Joss got into the car with a cell phone at her ear. "Thanks mom…Tell him I will pick him up tomorrow…I'm glad you two had a good dinner and you rented that movie. It is one of his favorites…Ok, see ya tomorrow…" She ended the conversation and, with her free hand, dropped the car into gear and drove into the corner of the building. She parked the car in the slot and pointed at a door. "That's your room…come on…" She handed him the key to the room. Then she got out, collected the food and grabbed a stack of files from under the front seat, shutting the car door with her hip. She headed for the room. She smiled at John through the windshield.

John slowly got out of the car and walked toward her. He inserted the key and opened the door for her. Stepping back he did an automatic sweep of the parking lot and the other doors and windows that he could see. There was no one watching them.

"How did you get a key so fast?" He stepped in behind her, shutting and locking the door. His one good eye swept over the room, checking everything. He stood still for a moment.

"Well… Long story short is Darby is an old police detective…" She glanced at him as she set the food and the files down on the dresser, looking at him in the reflection from the mirror on the wall above the dresser. She reached and took the ice bucket from the dresser, and turned and headed back for the door. She put her hand out for the key and he gave it to her. Looking up into a very tired face, she gave him a sympatric smile. "Go sit down, before you fall down…" She motioned to the little work station where a desk lamp and phone sat. "Eat something and look at that top file."

"Carter, I-."

"Don't I me….You are as bad as Taylor." She walked past him.

She unlocked the door and looked back over her shoulder at him as she opened the door. Her dark brown eyes were sparkling. "There is no back way out of here. If you come out of this door, I will shoot you, now sit down and get something to eat…" She was out the door, closing it quietly. She knew how to take care of stubborn kids…

Reese stood there staring at the door. He drew a deep breath in and let it out. Shouldering out of his overcoat he threw it across the single bed and walked over to the dresser and picked up the top file, he started toward the chair and worktable but stopped and took one of the Styrofoam containers. He went to the table and pulled the single chair out. He set the food on the table and sat down with the file in his hand. He went to lean back, but thought better of it. His low back was hurting as he sat. He opened the file and the container and did as he was told.

POI


	8. Chapter 8

Please read and and leave a review. If you like it let me know, if you don't let me know.

Finch viewed the data in front of him for the second time. It was an insurance contact, something he knew a lot about and even, after reading it the second time, he was totally flabbergasted and getting angry. This contract was totally legal and morally wrong. What he was really angry about was the insurance agent who had written the policy. It was a man he had fired from his own agency two years ago and thought the man had lost his license. Harold Wren had told the Insurance Regulatory Commission, the NIAC of the bad policies this man had written, which had cost his agency hundred of thousands of dollars. He had fired him and thought the matter taken care of.

The contract was well written, with no loops holes that he could see. If Jerrod "the Hammer" Wilson was to die outside the ring he was worth a quarter million dollars. He turned his attention back to the screens, looking deeper into National Insurance Company, and he knew he was going to get angrier. This was a subsidiary of his Insurance Company. There was going to be hell to pay and heads to roll, how this man could have gotten a job back with one of his underwriters was unbelievable.

POI

Carter came back about ten minutes later, not only with an ice bucket but with plastic bag full of things. She knocked lightly as she opened the door and stepped into the room. John was sitting at the desk and reading, he was sitting way to upright for him. She saw him glance at her as she came in and then he went back to reading the file in hand. There was a lot to read.

She walked through the room, seeing that he had opened one of the fish and chips and at least one of the pieces of fried fish was half eaten. She went into the bathroom. She set the bucket of ice on the counter top, set the plastic bag down and started removing bandage material from it, along with some antiseptic soap and antibiotic cream. She had gone to a little corner market and gotten the medical things.

She took a hand towel off the rack and laid it down on the counter and spread the crushed ice from the ice bucket down the center of the towel. Taking it, she folded it in thirds and made an ice pack out of it. She turned and walked out of the bathroom and saw John standing at the bed, reaching for his coat. "Oh…no you don't." She walked up to him, looking up at him, she saw him try to stand taller, making her have to crane her neck to see him. Her eyes narrowed. She reached out with her free hand and pulled the coat out of his hand and tosses it across the room.

He glanced down at her. "I got the info-."

She pointed to the bed. "Sit down John!" She had that authoritative tone in her voice. After all she was not only a cop, but the mom of a teenager. She watched the emotion fade from his face, the mask was in place. But she had been around him long enough to know what was behind that mask and it wouldn't work. "I said…Sit…" She actually leaned forward a little, getting into his space.

John actually stepped back, shocked. "Carter I-."

She did it so smoothly and totally by surprise that he didn't have time to react, turning him and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. She reached forward with her free right hand and grabbed his shirt, using her body, she stepped into him and turned him so his back was to the bed and then, hooking the back of his right knee with her with her left, she took his leg out from under him and he sat down actually very gently with her guiding him down. She saw the look on his face, first embarrassment then anger and then the corner of his lip turned up slightly and he smiled.

He raised his left eye brow and gave her a sardonic smile. "If you wanted me in bed, all you had to do was say so." She had caught him totally by surprise. His voice was deep and raspy. He looked up at her as she stood within inches of him. He looked into her warm brown eyes, and saw a touch of blush color her cheeks.

"Handcuffed in the back of my car is where you should be…" Her voice was teasing; she touched the back of her hand that held the ice pack to the tip of her nose. Her other hand still grasped the front of his shirt.

He could smell her perfume, the soap she had used to wash her hair and the clean scent he always associated her with when he got that close. He went to lean back a little to get more of a look of her and his back reminded him of the bruising there.

She saw the slight hesitation in his move. "Where else are you hurt?" She stepped back slightly, letting go of the front of his shirt. "Here be useful." She handed him the ice pack she had made. "Put this on your eye." Her eyes scanned his face. "Its got to be your back if you fell off a roof..." She saw him take the ice pack and do as told. She knew he had to be on his last reserve of energy. He had allowed her to best him in the move and he hadn't argued in putting the ice pack to his right eye. She side stepped a little and reached around him grabbing his shirt where it was tucked in at the waist. She noticed that his gun was actually holstered on his left side. He normally wore it on the right side.

"Carter!" John inched a little away from her, lowering the ice bag and looking at her, with real surprise on his face. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to look at your back and see how bad the bruise is…and don't tell me you're fine…I know better." She tugged at his shirt and pulled it out of his waist band and lifted the shirttail up. She sucked in a breath. "Holy Mother Mary…What did you fall on?" She leaned further around him, pulling up his shirt and looking at the black bruise that was now covering most of his lower back.

"I think I fell on my gun, in a dumpster." He felt his shirt being raised even more.

"My God John, this is really bad…" She stepped back and studied his face again for a moment. "Lay down and I will get another ice pack." She saw him moved his head a little so he could see her around the towel on his face. She knew he was about to protest and get up. "Lay down and I will tell you what wasn't in Anderson's file and wasn't in Jerrod's file." She stepped back and headed toward the bathroom, knowing she had him.

"What do you mean?" He saw her move away from him, but she pointed to the head of the bed.

"Lay back and I will tell you…" She went into the bathroom, taking another towel and placing the rest of the ice in it, she wrapped it up.

John stood and moved toward the head of the bed and gingerly stretched his frame out along the length. The bed was almost too short, the top of his head brushed the headboard and his heels were right at the foot of the bed. He had to admit the ice pack felt good and so did lying down, even if he was on his back.

The memory didn't slam him. It carefully crossed his mind's eye. He was lying in a hospital bed. His first glimpse of Jessica was as he opened his eyes and she was standing next to his bed adjusting the drip on the IV bag.

She was standing with the window behind her and the sun slanting in, casting a yellowish hue over her. Her blond, honey-colored hair was aglow, with bright highlights catching at the ends to give her almost a halo look.

He was peaceful, there was no pain. There had been so much pain; his mind had numbed itself against its body. He had lost track of time and place. The last thing he could really remember was being in a hot desert with a grenade going off near him.

He blinked his eyes into focus and watched her for a long moment in silence. He saw her bluish/green eyes look from the drip to his face. He smiled at her at her and she smiled back. He saw the smile go into her eyes. It took him a moment to find his voice but. "Wow I always thought I would wind up in Hell." He saw her lips close a little, saw a sparkle come into those beautiful eyes.

"No, you are in a hospital." She reached up and touched his forehead with the back of her hand, her hand was soft and cool to the touch, and it sent shivers down his whole body.

"I'm not in Heaven?" He shifted his eyes toward the window and then looked back at her.

She gently laughed and that's when he fell in love with her. He studied her face, memorizing it.

"No, just a hospital."

"You are not an Angel?"

"No, I am not an angel. My name is Jessica and I am your nurse." Still smiling she touched his bare shoulder, just at the edge of the bandaged area in the hollow of his left shoulder, checking the temperature around the wound. "You were brought here a week ago now. You were airlifted in from Germany." She looked down into his face, she knew he had been on some heavy duty drugs but he had been silent the whole time he had laid here, which was very unusual, normally the soldiers on this much morphine talked, dreamed or screamed most of the time. All that had been said about him was that he was up for a medal for saving his team.

He had been wounded and an infection had set in, it was life threatening. He had been sent here because the new drugs and operating procedures were state of the art and the Military wanted their man back and whole. They had invested a lot of time and money in him. And they didn't let anyone forget it. He was an asset, a perfect asset.

"John…" it was Carters voice.

He opened his left eye and saw her standing on the left side of the bed. "I was resting my eyes." He saw her lips curl in a smirk and she touched her free hand to her lip, hiding the smile.

"Can you roll toward me? I'll lay the ice pack against your back.

"What isn't in the files?" He saw her eyes flash at him but she stood there waiting for him to roll toward her. He did, she was a hard woman to refuse.

"I called the detective that worked the B&E on Jerrod two years ago. Reading the report, I just got the feeling that there should have been more to it, like he was writing around something. She laid the ice pack over his low back. "And I was right…" She dropped down to her knees at the edge of the bed so she could look at John's face now that he rolled over. She saw his one eye looking at her. "He said that he figured Jerrod didn't have the brains to plan the break in and that he really liked this guy, Anderson. It looked like their relationship went way back, but Jerrod wouldn't turn on Anderson so there was no way of being able to name him. Jerrod got a year, but it got dropped to 6 months time served…and most of that was just in and out of court." She reached out and touched his arm that was holding the ice pack to his eye. "I am going to meet with the detective. He said he had some notes that he had kept and as long as I don't tell anyone where I got them, I can read them."

John started to move, her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"No, you are going to wait here, it will only take me about twenty five minutes to get there and read what he has." She wasn't going to tell him it was just across the parking lot and Darby had been the detective. That's why she had wanted to meet John at that location, but seeing his condition changed all that. "I think the connection will lead us further…" She gave him a bit of a one sided smile. "Deal?"

"You are a hard woman to bargain with…."


	9. Chapter 9

Again I do not own them...Please read and review. I you like it let me know, if you don't let me know...it is how I learn

Carter sat down for a minute. "You rest, I am going to eat, then I will go see the detective." She was hungry, but she also knew that if she left right now, John would get up. Seeing the subtle change in his face she knew she had been right. Opening the other Fish and Chips, she ate the now cold fish. She sat so she was facing John lying on the bed. She had seen him curl his body slightly so he was keeping an eye on her. She watched as that eye slowly closed and she saw the difference in his breathing. She watched as his body relaxed and sleep took over. She finished her two pieces of fish and, grabbing both boxes, she closed them, got to her feet quietly, keeping her eyes on John's body. He didn't wake. She walked quietly to the door, opened it and slipped out.

Walking across the parking lot she saw Michael Patrick Darby standing behind the counter, watching her as she walked. She smiled at the aging overweight ex-detective. Walking in the door, she dumped the boxes in the trash.

"Ah me Darlin' so good to see you." His heritage showed in his voice. He was leaning on the counter with one elbow. "Did yer get yer bundle taken care of?" He saw her nod. His face was a road map of wrinkles. His pale blue eyes were sharp and expressive. White hair framed his face. "How 'ave the boys been a treating you?" He winked at her seeing her lips draw back in a half smile/snarl. He knew it had been tough on her, a female detective on a force full of men, but she had earned his respect from the beginning.

"Michael, it hasn't been the same since you left." She walked around the corner of the counter and stepped into his big embrace. They kissed each other on the cheek.

Michael pointed to the note book on the counter. "So are ye working a homicide?"

She looked at him, shrugged a shoulder. "I am trying to run down some leads and get a handle on this Jerrod guy."

"Well I 'ave to tell you. I found him dumber than a box of rocks. And that he is still alive is a wonder." He chuckled, a deep rumble down in his chest. "But he is loyal as hell to that Anderson fella. I found out Anderson was using him for collections and why they did the B&E on that store was a mystery. The Jerrod kid left his prints all over the place. He wore a mask because there were surveillance cameras, and didn't wear gloves. Figure that one out?" He shook his white head and stepped back, handing Carter the spiral bound note book. There was a case number across the top of the page. "And we never did know what was heisted." He shook his white head again and ran a hand over his still thick head of hair. "This guy has taken just one too many punches, he is slow, won't look at you and was single word answers to question, usually 'no'."

"How did you connect Anderson to Jerrod?" She started reading.

"He bailed him out… So I started tailing both of them. Something just wasn't right. There were no family connections, no mob connection. Anderson hired one of those high priced lawyers…" He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, remembering. "Hill and Hill..." He nodded to himself. "They took the case, got the charges reduced and the kid walked." I followed them for several weeks. They would meet in the Boxing Gym down there on 57th. Anderson would watch him spar but there was no real training. Jerrod had two fights and lost both of them.

"And these addresses?" She kind of rolled the book toward him and pointed, seeing him squint to read his own writing.

"Those were empty warehouses. Both Anderson and Jerrod would visit them every other day but there was never anything in them, no delivery, nothing stored…but they went together every other day, like clockwork, 1300 hours, stayed about an hour and then they would leave." He shifted on his feet. "Jerrod followed Anderson like a puppy dog…" He glanced out the window and then back at the petite Detective in front of him. "When the charges got reduced and I couldn't find anything else on them I lost interest."

Carter read the rest of the pages. When she was finished, she smiled at him. "How is your daughter doing?"

He smiled the smile of a proud father. "She made Detective 1st grade last month…I told her to contact you, if she needed anything."

Carter pulled a small spiral bound note book much like the one she had handed back to Michael out of her pocket. "Give me her number…I'll contact her and congratulate her." She touched a knuckle on her right hand to her lips. She grabbed a pen off the counter that said Darby's Hotel and wrote the number down as he gave it to her. She smiled at him. "I'll let her know there are friendlies out there." She glanced over her shoulder at the room John was in.

"He hasn't come out…" Darby leaned back against the counter. "He's been here a couple times…Didn't know he was connected?"

Carter did a slow turn back toward the old Detective. "You've seen him before?" She knew Michael had a vast memory for people.

"Yeah, he has checked in here twice, several months apart. Paid cash, spent just one night each time, came alone left alone." He looked back across the parking lot then back at Carter. "Pleasant guy…" He saw something in her eyes, and dropped the subject.

"Who you partnered with these days?"

She smiled. "Depends on who is in the bull pen but most of the time, the guy across from me, guy named Fusco…"

"Lionel? Lionel Fusco?" He frowned…"When did he get away from Stills?" He shuffled his feet, glancing again at Carter, worry in his blue eyes.

"Stills has been MIA now for quite a while. All though, there have been Stills sightings…But rumor is that Stills went into witness protection against the mob…" She shrugged her shoulders. ""But no one knows for sure." She looked at Michael, looking him square in the eye. "Something I should know about Fusco?"

He thought for a long moment, and then shook his head. "No, just be careful out there." He smiled his broad smile. "I like you coming around here…"

She stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek and moved back. "And I like see you…" She headed back around the counter. "I'll see ya later…" She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Might need the room all night."

Michael Darby laughed. "Well, me darlin' as you know…" He spread his hands out, smiling broadly. "What goes on at Darby's stays at Darby's." He winked and laughed harder as he saw her blush.

Carter rolled her eyes and walked out. She moved across the parking lot, pulling her note book out and the pen she had taken from the counter. She scribbled down the two addresses of the warehouses she had memorized. She tucked the pen and notebook back into her coat pocket and retrieved the key to the room. She didn't knock. She quietly opened the door and slipped into the room.

He was still asleep and it didn't look like he had moved a muscle. She walked around the bed quietly, assessing him as she moved. The ice pack on his back was still lying where she had placed it. There was now a wide wet stain around it where the ice was melting and his shirt was soaking it up. His right hand was still lying against the ice pack on the right side of his head, and there was a dark stain where water was dripping down on the bedspread.

She wished she had gotten a couple plastic bags to put the ice in now, oh well. She watched him for a couple more minutes; she couldn't see the right eye because of the towel but his left eye was showing eye movement. He was in deep sleep. His left arm that he was half laying on, she noticed his fingers twitch slightly. She absently ran the knuckle of her right hand over the end of her nose. She turned and headed into the bathroom, closing the door.

She used the facilities and was standing in front of the mirror washing her hands and checking her hair and makeup when she heard a sound. She turned the water off. She stilled her breathing a listened for a minute. She quickly dried her hands.

His voice when he spoke was deep, husky, sounding a bit strange. "Cara is that you?"

She looked at her expression in the mirror, one of conjecture, and turned and stepped toward the door. She opened it and stepped out.

She froze.

POI

Finch was seething. Jim Morrison had slipped under the radar of detection. He had changed his name twice, Jim Constantine and then James Bollinger. His documents were obviously forgeries; his licenses were faked. Well forged fakes, but fakes, and from the looks of his 'electronic 'fingerprints,' he had targeted the Wren Insurance Agency who had fired him. From the Library' Finch had connected to his Insurance office computer and started the process of contacting the NIAC, then his managers and the managers of the subsidiary agency and put into motion the cancellation of the contract. He demanded that the NIAC arrest James Bollinger, AKA Jim Morrison and sent them all the documentation that they would need. He also set up meetings with his managers for tomorrow at 11:00 am.

Finch had been sitting for three hours straight now. Slowly he got out of the computer chair and headed to get himself another Sencha Tea. He went into the little kitchen area and turned the hot plate on. He walked over and put water in his kettle and walking stiffly went back to the hot plate.

He stood and looked at the wall while the water warmed. He would have to try and figure out a program that he could write that would detect and warn about what had just happened. His mind was already plotting out the search vehicle he would need to write.

The pot started to whistle, Finch stepped to the cabinet that held his tea and while his hands stuffed the tea into the sieve his mind continued its thought process, his mind writing the code.

He walked back to the computer and looked at the screen that held the red blips. John had been stationary for awhile now. He took a sip of his tea and sat back down in the chair. Bringing the blips over to the main screen, he opened up the tracking page and brought up the over lay of the city. He traced John to an address and looked it up. Seeing it was Darby's hotel. "Interesting?" He adjusted his glasses and sipped his tea.

POI

Carter stepped into the room and saw Reese standing on the far side of the bed, his automatic held at shoulder height and pointing at her. She took in several factors at once as she slowly raised her hands out away from her body. The swelling over his right eye was significantly reduced. The bruising had spread down into his cheek now and he looked like he had a thick smear of mascara trailing down toward his jaw. Both eyes were glassy and a little wild looking.

"John, what's going on?" She remained with her hands out away from her body. She saw his head twitch as if there was pain along the injured eye. She watched as his eyes looked from one side of the room to the other and then back at her. To her surprise she saw a touch of confusion cross his face.

"Detective Carter?" His voice sounded doubtful, his right eye twitched. The confusion on his face deepened as he looked about the room. He blinked his eyes a couple times, but the gun stayed steady.

"Yeah…" Worry and confusion spread across her face. She didn't lower her arms because he had not lowered his weapon. "John _are_ you alright?" Fear started to creep into her mind, seeing the look in his eyes, he was thinking about pulling the trigger, and then suddenly she saw the look in his eyes change, he quickly lowered the gun. His face blanched even whiter than it already was. His lips went colorless, the bruise trailing down from his eye stood out like stage makeup in a bright light.

"Joss…?" His voice was just a whisper as he bent over; both hands went to his head. He held the gun loosely, the butt against his temple and he staggered.

Carter was over the bed and helped steady him. She reached up and carefully took the weapon from his right hand, tossing it on the bed. As she had touched the gun he had looked at her, it flashed across his eyes but he let her have the gun.

"I'm sorry I-."

"Sit down before you fall down…" She helped him turn and sit back on the bed. She felt his left hand grasp her upper arm in a hard clamp, she looked into his face as he looked up at her, he held her close.

"I would never hurt you…" His face carried a stricken look to it, both eyes were pleading. "I-."

"John…" Carter reached out and touched the left side of his face with her right hand, feeling him loosen his grip on her forearm. Her left hand was still against his shoulder and he was leaning against it for support. "Its alright, you've had a rough couple days, and a bullet to the head would put most people in the hospital." Her brown eyes sparkled, her lips turned up in a sarcastic smile. "But you're not most people." She gently shook her head. "Let me get you some water…" She waited to move until he released her arm and tried to straighten up. She stepped back

"How long was I asleep?" He put his elbows to his thighs, dropping his head into his hands. He pressed his fingers to his temples.

She walked into the bathroom, ran the water and got a clean glass and filled it. "Not very long." Coming back she saw he was still bent over, holding his head. "When you are up to it, I got a clean bandage for your head." She stepped around the bed and moved to stand in front of him.

He spoke toward the floor. Still, with his head in his hands. "Carter I never-"

"John." Her voice was soft, she reach out and touched his shoulder. "Drink some water…when was the last time you took some aspirin or something like that?" She lowered her hand with the water glass in it, so he could see it with out sitting up.

He reached out and took it, then slowly sat up. "I don't remember?" He looked around the room, he still felt a bit confused and the headache wasn't helping, the pounding had increased.

Carter squatted down, looking into his face. "Look at me…" She looked at his eyes, now that the right one was open. She reached into her inside pocket on her jacket and pulled out a little pen light. Turning it on, she flashed it across his eyes. She had had enough medical training to see that both his pupils reacted the same. "Well I don't think your thick skull is cracked" her lips drew a smile "but, I will bet that you do have a concussion." She stood up. "I've got some Tylenol in the car, let me go get it." She stepped back and watched as he lowered his head, pressing the water glass to the left side of his temple.

She walked over to the door and opened it. Flipping the lock latch over so the door wouldn't close, she stepped out, went to the car and got the bottle out of the glove compartment. She saw Darby was still sitting at the counter, looking out toward her.

She waved and walked back into the room, shutting the door.

Walking back over to him, she opened the bottle and shook out two tablets. "Here, get these down and then lay back down again for a few minutes and see if it helps."

He sat up and took the pills from her extended hand and popped them into his mouth, then drank the water down. "Thanks…What did you find out?"

"Let me go get some more ice for your eye and then I will tell you." She was totally surprised as he didn't argue. He set the glass on the bedside table, picked up his gun off the bed and handed it to her and laid back down across the bed. Under her breath she looked at the gun in her hand… "Will wonders never cease?"

POI


	10. Chapter 10

Again I do not own them...Please read and review. I you like it let me know, if you don't let me know...it is how I learn.

She had let him rest; and he actually slept a couple more hours before the room next door got a little too noisy and there began a steady rhythm against the wall. She watched him wake up. He was propped up with his head and shoulders on three pillows. It was almost as if she felt a change in the air, he was awake. She turned in her chair and watched him take the ice bag off his eye, lift his head up and look around the room for a moment. Then he laid his head back and put the ice bag along his side. "Feeling better?" With the ice bag off she saw that the bruising was starting to turn yellow around the edges and the swelling was way down. She watched as his green eyes studied her for a long minute. She flipped the TV off and swung around in the chair. She glanced over at him and saw him press his right hand to his temple, just behind the fresh bandage.

He slowly sat up and swung his feet to the carpeted floor. He glanced at the wall as it bumped steadily and gave a bit of a half smile. He dropped his hand to his side, setting the ice pack onto the bedside table. "For a minute I was afraid the pounding was in my head." He glanced over at her, seeing her smile. The headache wasn't totally gone, but it was better. He had a feeling that what ever she had given him, had been a little more than just plain Tylenol. And he was glad. He could actually think and not have it hurt.

She could tell that he was feeling better. His face wasn't as pinched looking, and other than the fact that he had a hell of a black eye, he looked like his old self. She watched as he got to his feet. Glancing down at the almost dried water stain on his shirt, he went into the bathroom, "You'll excuse me for a minute…" shutting the door.

She heard water running, he was in there for about fifteen minutes. She was about to call out to him when the door opened and he stepped out. He came out and he was carefully toweling his face, he had shaved. She had seen the plastic razor in the amenities cup and was surprised that Darby actually had oatmeal soap along with miniature containers of shampoo and hand cream available.

He tossed the towel on the bed as the thumping against the wall stopped. "So what did you find out?"

POI

Harold took a break from writing the program and checked in on Reese, when he saw the blips were still at the same location he decided to bring up the tracking device on Carter. It overlaid Reese's. He was staring at the three blips when his phone rang.

"Yes Mr. Reese…Feeling better?" He watched as the blips started to move. He listened for a minute, grabbing a pen he started to write. "Give me the 1st address again…Yes, and you say they are warehouses?" He listened again. "No, I found who actually wrote the policy…and it has been canceled…I have a vested interest in the subsidiary company that holds the policy and have already put in motion to have the man who wrote it arrested by the NIAC in the morning, I received a response back to my inquiry/investigation about an hour ago. They are proceeding post-haste."

He listened again for several minutes. "I will let you know what I find out about the warehouses…No they were not in any of Anderson's or Phillip's holdings of records that I remember, but I will check again." He could hear Carter ask John a question, John repeated it to him. "No, there are no family ties that I can see between Anderson and Jerrod…Other then he bailed him out of jail two years ago…" He listened again. "Yes, Mr. Reese…I will let you know." He heard the click in his ear and disconnected on his end. His fingers started flying over the key board…

POI

"So they came here every other day?" Reese looked at the building. It was a red brick, single story warehouse, three small offices up front, large parking area for tractors and trailers and it looked like about fifteen loading docks on each side of the building.

"According to my source, they did, back when he was investigating Jerrod. He said he saw Jerrod fight twice and loose, said the kid was loyal like a dog to Anderson." Joss looked through the door window of the car at the offices. They were dark.

John turned his head and looked at her, his face that blank look. "Well how about I go look around?" He put a hand on the door handle.

"How about I go with you…" She looked over at him in the early morning light; her hand went to her door handle.

A slip of a smile touched the corner of his lip. "Well detective…how about plausible deniability…I was planning on quietly breaking in and looking around…"

She opened the door to the car, looking over her shoulder as she got out. "You won't get caught…Right?" Her voice carried a touch of sarcasm. She was out of the car and walking toward the dark building.

John silently chuckled and got out of the car. His right eye was still a little blurry but he could see. He cast a glance across the front of the building and up to the roof. He was about three steps behind Carter and in three quick strides he caught up with her. "Carter, active cameras on the roof." He reached up and touched the ear bud in his right ear. "Finch… you there?"

"Where else would I be Mr. Reese," He smiled at the computer, watching the numerous screen displays from the roof. "I was checking the warehouses and saw that they have an extensive number of cameras, at both addresses. I saw you pull up. I have accessed control of the cameras. There are fifteen cameras on the roof, over twenty in the warehouse and it looks like two in each of the offices. I am also picking up an audio hum in the second office."

He made a few strokes on the keyboard. "They also have a thermal camera in the warehouse…" He saw movement in the thermal camera. "Mr. Reese, there is someone in the warehouse…" He watched as the thermal image of reds and yellows and blues staggered across the floor. "Mr. Reese…Whoever it is, appears injured…" He gasped as the person fell down.

"Finch…Where in the warehouse?" Reese reached out and touched Carter on the arm lightly, drawing his gun with his right hand. He saw Carter draw her weapon. His eyes scanned the building.

"Northeast corner…" Finch tried to change resolution on the camera. "I don't see any other movement inside or outside the building." He watched as the person tried to get back to his feet and fell again. His voice was anxious sounding. "Hurry Mr. Reese…"

John moved forward at a trot, speaking to Carter as he went. "Finch said there is someone inside the warehouse, he saw him stagger and fall." John's automatic came up to the ready as the sound of tires squealing toward the back of the building became audible.

"Mr. Reese…it's a van and it is coming at you about your 11 o'clock." Finch picked up the movement in a roof camera as the van shot forward out of the darkness.

Both Reese and Carter moved as if in an intricate dance, toward the sound. Both guns moved in unison as the dark van shot across the parking lot, pointing toward the on-coming vehicle. There were no headlights but what light there was glinted off the windshield as the van rocketed forward.

Suddenly a burst of gunfire erupted from the van's side door as the it made a tire screeching turn and bolted for an opening in the yard fence and a side street.

Both Carter and Reese fired at the van. John saw a face in the muzzle flash that he recognized from the roof top. He shifted his aim as the van teetered to the left, he pulled the trigger and thought he saw the man behind the muzzle flash pushed backwards into the van.

And then the van was out onto the street and speeding away.

John lowered his weapon and looked sideways at Carter. "You all right?"

He watched her as she lowered her gun and glanced at him.

"There's always shooting around you, what's up with that John…?" She shook her head, adrenalin coursing through her body.

Reese stood there in the early morning light and got that expression he reserved for her when she was accusing him of over using his gun. "I don't know, I guess, I just attract the attention." He delivered it with a straight face. Finch's voice in his ear brought his attention back to the warehouse.

"Mr. Reese…I am assuming you are both all right?"

"Yes, Harold we are good here." Reese turned and started toward the warehouse door. "What's the situation inside?"

"The person has not moved." Finch's voice was anxious.

John continued toward the door. "Alarm system?" He knew Carter was a half step behind him, watching their backs.

"System is off." Finch worked his magic on the computer as John stepped up to the door. The sound of an electronic lock opening was almost loud in the stillness of the morning. "The door should be open Mr. Reese. The door will take you to a hallway, go right, down a short hall and through the next door and out into the warehouse. The Person of Interest is about fifty paces and slightly to the left.

Reese grabbed the door and opened it, holding it open with his leg and looking over his shoulder at Carter. He switched the gun to his left hand and pulled out a pen light. He quickly turned it on, swept the hallway and then moved forward, seeing Carter doing the same thing.

She didn't switch hands with her gun, but grabbing her pen light with her left hand, she turned it on and placed it alongside her gun.

They walked a few feet and it T'd into another hallway. Reese was in the lead and he swept the hallway with his gun and penlight, and then turned right, seeing the door ahead. Glancing sideways he saw Carter half turned, keeping her gun and light trained behind them.

"Door." Reese whispered it softly, reached for the handle and pulled it open, it opened in. A musty odor wafted in as he opened it. He blocked it fully open with a foot. Leaning into the vastness of the warehouse he swept his light and gun across the emptiness. Nothing shot back at them. He lowered the light beam toward the floor and to the left slightly and saw a lump on the floor. He felt Carter block the door with her shoulder and he stepped into the warehouse.

They crossed over to when the lump was. John flashed his light across the body, seeing a shock of sandy red hair, he knew it was Jerrod. Crouching down he felt for a pulse, he found one. "It's Jerrod…He's alive…" He quickly assessed Jerrod. "He's been shot, went straight through…Finch?"

Finch's voice spoke in his ear.

"Tell Detective Carter that help is already on the way…I have also added an ambulance."

John glanced up at Carter who was standing guard over them. "Carter…Ambulance and backup are on the way." …" John flashed his light around the empty warehouse. "What is that smell?" The musty odor was stronger toward the middle of the warehouse.

Carter swept her pen light in a 360 around them. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't smell good?" She glanced down at John, seeing him assessing the wounded man. "You probably out to get out of here…"

John ripped Jerrod's shirt into two strips and used one to stanch the flow of blood coming from his abdomen, Then he rolled him over, lifted his jacket, seeing the powder burns on the back of the jacket. He stuffed the second one against the small hole in Jerrod's back. He rolled him back over and adjusted the first bandage and put pressure on it. He felt Jerrod move under the pressure, watched as his hazel colored eyes blinked open. "You are safe now…Just relax…This is Detective Carter…"

"He shot me...?" His voice was slow and slurred. His eyes were glossy and pained filled.

His voice got weaker "He laughed and shot me…" Jerrod drew a shuttering breath. "Gonna… destroy… my home…" he spoke as he drew the breath.

John started to lean down trying to hear what he said. The smell…it finally triggered a memory. It was the burning smell of C67 fuse. "CARTER…RUN!" He came out of the crouch and pulled Jerrod up by his arm and slung him over his shoulder fireman style, lunging after Carter.

Carter didn't hesitate. She led the way back, the way they had come; she hit the door as an explosion erupted behind them at the back of the warehouse and as she flattened herself against the wall, holding the door open for John she saw the distinct glowing fireball of phosphorus roiling toward them.

John shot past her and she rolled away as the fireball heated the room they had just exited and she slapped the door closed behind her…She ran after John, knew the door would hold for only seconds as another explosion rocked the building.

They had to make the exit…or they were dead….

POI


	11. Chapter 11

As always, I do not own them, make no money from this. Please read, if you like it let me know, if you don't let me know. It is how I learn. Thank you.

John made the distance to the hall leading to the door to the outside in about five strides. He heard Carter coming up behind him. And then the real problem erupted, the overhead sprinkles came on. John figured who ever had used the W. P. incendiary bomb had counted on the water to further the explosion. He could feel the heat coming down the hallway he had just exited. With his right hand he opened the door to the outside and with his left hand, as he tried to flatted himself and Jerrod against the wall, he grabbed Carter by the shoulder as she hesitated at his move, and pulled her to him. Shoving her out into the early morning light, he lunged through the door after her, trying to close the door. He did not look back at the rolling bright white and yellow ball of fire that followed him.

The heat was intense enough to catch the back of Jerrod's jacket on fire…the back of John's pants legs ignited.

John staggered into the early morning air and heard Carter screaming at him. She hurriedly pulled her jacket off, quickly extinguishing the flame starting up the back of John's left leg. Then she started covering Jerrod's back and John's head with the jacket. Shouting at John she steered him and Jerrod away from the flames that were rolling out the half closed door. When she thought they were safely far enough from the building she yelled at him again over the roar of the fire. "Get him down…lay him down…"

John crouched down. He rolled Jerrod to the right side, cradling Jerrod's upper body against chest. The smoke was still curling up from Jerrod's back as Carter's jacket smothered the flames. Reese put his hand to the back of his head, feeling singed hair and put his hand to his nose. He saw the panic in Carter's eyes.

She was as animated as he had ever seen her. "That was a Willy Pete incendiary bomb…" Her brown eyes were wide and she was still looking both Reese and Jerrod over for Phosphorous burn.

He looked up at her as she hovered over them. "It was just flames…just flames…" He drew in a ragged breath, looking down at Jerrod. He held his hand up that he had drug across the back of his scorched hair. "It just smells like singed hair…" He knew that if it had contained any White Phosphorous in the flame it would smell like it, not like burnt hair, and he knew Carter would know. He saw her turn the panic down a notch.

"Just burnt hair?" Her eyes studied his head and face.

Reese nodded; he knew that had any of the phosphorous powder actually hit them they would still be burning. Phosphorus was an oxide and would continue to burn or eat anything it landed on. They had lucked out; it was just the rolling flame from the explosion and not the powder that had come around the hall corner.

He carefully laid Jerrod all the way onto the asphalt, using Carter's jacket to cushion the young man's head. John hunkered down next to the injured man, seeing the fear in his dark eyes. "You are safe now…You're going to make it…Carter will take care of you." John's voice was low and soft. His green eyes studied the frightened eyes for a moment.

Carter's head swiveled toward the front gate. "John, they're rolling in silent." She had seen the red and blue flash of police lights coming between the buildings a block away, there were no sirens blaring. She gestured with her head in the direction of the now visible flashing lights. "You need to get away from here…"

She squatted down on the other side of Jerrod, across from John. Her dark eyes searched John's face. "You need to go…" She looked down at Jerrod's pale face in the early morning light. She saw his large brown eyes blink at her; there was blood at the corner of his mouth.

Jerrod reached a hand out to her. "You are pretty." His voice was very soft and child like.

The far end of the warehouse suddenly shook, the ground beneath their feet trembled and a brick blowing eruption followed. Whole bricks were shot hundreds of feet into the air. A sound like a rocket taking off blasted across the parking lot, the ground actually rumbled from the explosion.

Reese reacted. He reached out and pulled Carter to him, protectively shielding her with his body. Moving in a crouch to cover her and Jerrod with his body, he half hunkered/stood over them as flames, bricks and metal shot up into the morning sky. It looked like the fourth of July with red dust, orange white flames and red bricks trailing out in streamers. John tried desperately to cover as much of Carter and Jerrod as his body would allow.

A few wayward chips and small silver dollar sized chunks of red brick landed around them. Most of the blast seemed directed to the back end of the warehouse. Fifty yards closer to the explosion, several whole and half sized bricks landed, sounding like mortars hitting the asphalt. Closer to the end of the building, larger pieces came down, sounding like missiles or rockets sailing through the air. Some bricks hit the pavement with such force they either turned to instant dust or left craters where they hit. The sound was deafening.

John could feel Carter under him. Small chunks pelted his bent back as he hunkered over them as best he could.

Carter turned her head. Her face was close to the left side of John's head and shoulder. "I hate this…reminds me of Ghaniz…" She spoke as she too, tried to protect Jerrod.

Reese felt several little hits across his back and shoulders but nothing hit his head. He took a chance and looked back over his shoulder. Most of what was coming down now was dust. A few pieces of smaller debris were still coming back to earth, but it looked like most of the heavy stuff had landed. He used his vantage point to lean in closer to Carter. "You all right?" His voice was soft.

"Yeah, I'm fine. She looked down into Jerrod's face, which was a just inches from her. "Hang in there pal, were going to get you out of here and fixed up."

Jerrod looked between the jumble of legs and arms toward the back of the warehouse. He swallowed, tears forming in his eyes. "They…they blew up my home…" his voice was soft and still child like. He clutched the bandage made from his shirt.

John straightened up, glancing around through the red dust that was settling over everything. He helped Carter straighten up and stand. He glanced over her shoulder. His eyes settled back looking at her, he gave her a half smile raised his left eye brow. "Got 'ta go…" Abruptly he turned and started walking away in the opposite direction from the ring of cop cars parked at the entrance with their lights on. He calmly turned and walked away.

Carter looked over her shoulder at the ring of cars; safely parked a good distance from them and where the explosion had happened. She saw that everyone's attention was still on the far end of the building and the strange yellowish flames that was still burning away. She knew a phosphorus fire when she saw it…She had seen enough in Afghanistan.

She glanced back at the direction John was walking, saw where he was heading and then looked back at the crowd of cops and now fire trucks showing up. She saw an officer she knew. "Tealson!" She waved a hand to get his attention off the fire. "Over here, bring the Para-medics with you…now!"

POI

Carter looked at Jerrod and smiled. "I'll be back to see you in the morning…" She reached out and touched his hand that was folded over his chest. "That nice officer standing just inside the door is going to stay with you, so you don't have to worry."

She saw his brown eyes watching her. She wasn't totally sure how much he understood. She stepped away from the side of the hospital bed where she had spent the last hour trying to get information out of him, and gotten very little.

"You are a pretty lady." He smiled at her. Suddenly he frowned, his face full of worry. "Pretty lady, number 786955."

Carter stepped back toward the bedside. "Jerrod are you alright, are you in pain?"

His eyes unfocused, he looked blankly at his hands. "Number…786955…" Then his frown suddenly changed to a beaming smile. "I have something for you." He reached under the hospital sheets and pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her. "786954, the man in the jacket told me to give this to you…"

Carter glanced over her shoulder at the guard at the door but saw he wasn't paying attention to them. She turned slightly and opened the folder piece of white paper.

'_Dear 786955, Jerrod names everyone with a number. Finch had to dig back twenty-five years to when Jerrod was 3. He was tested and is a high functioning Autistic Savant. His gift is numbers. You, according to Jerrod are 786955 and I am 786954. The detective that interviewed him a couple years ago was 66954…which I found was his badge number. The reason 66954 didn't find anything stolen two years ago was because Jerrod was there to memorize the company's books, both sets. Which he did apparently by glancing at them…Anderson who's number is 81, thought they were double skimming and Jerrod proved it, when he brought the numbers back in his head. Get a tape recorder in there and ask him to tell you anything about 81's bank accounts...it's very interesting…Finch found several off shore accounts connected to both Anderson and Phillips…Jerrod does not do well with the written word…but he is a marvel at the numbers. Finch found that that very interesting…John'_

She smiled a tired smile. Looking back at Jerrod he was staring back at his hands again. She touched the back of her hand to her nose. "Jerrod did…" She held the paper so she could read the number, "786954 give this to you?" She saw him smile and nod.

He reached a hand under the sheet again and produced a hand held electronic device, turning it toward her. "He gave me this too…I like it, it is numbers."

She saw it was some kind of numbers game. "That's great…when did he give you this?"

She watched as the frown reappeared and he put the device back under the covers, he went back to looking at his hands.

POI

John sat across the table from Carter. It was an Italian restaurant. The table had a red and white checkerboard tablecloth. A candle stuck in an old short fat wine bottle flickered between them, it was early evening. The smell of pizza bread rising, sauces cooking with garlic, oregano and special spices filled the room. It was a quiet little restaurant that took reservations only. Each table was set in its own little area sectioned off from each other for a quiet, intimate dinner.

Carter had been surprised as the Owner of the restaurant Louie, had greeted John by his first name and taken him back to their table. She was doubly surprised when Louie had asked John if he wanted his usual wine, which turned out to be a very expensive red wine.

John reached out, took his wine glass and sipped from it, hiding the smile that wanted to betray his mood. His black eye was mostly yellow now. There were two small band aids over his right eye and the eye was back to normal size. He set the glass back down but didn't remove his hand. John gazed across the candle at Carter. "Finch found out that our Jerrod, even though he is very simple, he is actually very rich, besides the life insurance policy that Anderson had taken out on him." His voice was very soft.

He shifted in his chair slightly. "Anderson was his executor. That was the connection, a very well hidden connection. Jerrod's family is quite wealthy…They made their money in warehousing…Jerrod…Or his family, must own a thousand of them up and down the east coast." John used a finger to turn his wine glass a little on the table, watching the candle light flicker in Carter's dark eyes. "Anderson was appointed as Jerrod's handler from the age of eight…" John shifted in his chair and leaned an elbow in. "He has been using Jerrod as a walking numbers calculator. Jerrod's mother passed away five years ago and Jerrod's father who is still alive and kicking seems to care less about Jerrod. He has two other sons to carry on the family name."

John's eyes shifted from Carter's face to the curtain that parted as Louie stepped inside, John looked back at Carter. "Do you know what you want to order?"

Carter had looked the menu over as the wine had arrived. She smiled at John. "You seem to know this place, you can order for me…" She saw a smile move into his green eyes. She saw his eyes shift to focus past her right shoulder.

"Louie, li sorprese stasera …" Just a touch of a smile went to his lips as he nodded.

Carter saw Louie disappear with a smile. "Just how many languages do you speak?" She saw his eyes move back to her

"Fluently only a few, bits and pieces of several…" He shifted again in his chair. "I told him to surprise us…"

Carter was beginning to wonder what he was nervous about. "What is going to happen to Jerrod…He obviously needs someone to watch over him, another guardian?" Carter took her wine glass and took a sip, setting it back down.

"Jerrod's brother Michael is taking control." John shifted in his chair again, his eyes intense on Carter. "He thought that "Uncle" Anderson was taking care of his brother's affairs, now that Anderson and Phillips have been arrested on attempted murder, fraud and racketeering charges, Michael is stepping up to help."

Louie reappeared through the red, yellow and green flowered curtain. Stepping forward, he put a basket of linen wrapped bread down. "Italian Marsala bread…to start…" He quickly stepped back out.

John looked a little surprised. "We are special tonight…His wife, Lucy makes this bread on rare occasions…" He pulled the linen covering back and a sweet yeast aroma filled the little room." He picked the basket up and offered Carter a bun. "They have raisins in them."

Carter selected one and waited until John had set the basket down and selected one for himself and them she tasted it. It was heavenly with a rich taste of wine from the raisins.

She nodded her approval as she saw John take a bite of his. "This is delicious…"

Louie dashed in again, this time with two small plates. "Home made sausage…in tomato sauce with fresh Basil and Oregano and a hint of home made goat cheese…" He smiled at Carter. He set the plates down and disappeared again.

Louie kept slowly moving in and out, He refilled their wine glasses, took the empty sausage plates and returned with two large plates. "Sautéed Italian vegetables and our specialty, spicy Italian Roast with spaghetti, slow roasted for eight hours." He set the plate down in front of Carter and then stepped to John and set his plate down.

Carter saw something pass between them; Louie winked at John and slid out of the room.

She saw the tension in John's shoulders disappear. "Something I should know about?" She was suddenly suspicious. He had been shuffling around in his chair like a two year old that had done something wrong and was about to get caught. Her warm brown eyes suddenly went darker, she saw him look up from his plate.

"No…nothing at all." His face went to that un-telling mask he sometimes wore.

She looked around the little room and then back at him. "It's just that normally when we meet like this…You are working a case or a bad guy is about to show up, or you are about to break the law…" She kept her eyes on his.

He smiled. "It's good that you've gotten paranoid around me…But tonight…it is just dinner…I promise…" He raised his eyebrows slightly, giving a slight nod of his head. He picked his fork up and the extra spoon and took a small amount of spaghetti and swirled it around the fork using the spoon as a base. When the pasta was sufficiently wound around the fork, he then stabbed a small piece of the roast and popped it into his mouth…

They finished the main course and Louie popped in and took the plates away and returned with two small dishes with pastry strips on them. "And for you" He set the plate down in front of Carter. "Lucy made these just moments ago…They are called Haman's Ears…We use the basic recipe but have changed it slightly from the original." He then set John's plate down. He stood next to John, looking at Carter. "We use the lemon zest, and almond flour and flash fry them…Please…try one…"

Carter took one of the four inch long, ½ inch thick strips, she could smell the almond and lemon, and she saw it was lightly coated with powdered sugar. She placed it in her mouth and it melted. She smiled around the flavoring. "That's the most wonderful pastry I have ever tasted." She saw Louie smile and clap his hands.

"Excellent…" He disappeared again through the curtain that separated them from the rest of the restaurant.

John picked up one of the strips and popped it into his mouth. "I do have a little something that we need to do." John stood up and reached a hand out to Carter.

Carters shoulders dropped, her face took on a look of _'I knew it'. _She ignored his hand and pushed her chair back. "Ok John, what are you up to?" She got to her feet and stared up at him, a little anger touching her voice.

John put his extended hand to his chest. "You wound me…Joss."

Her eyes narrowed at his gesture. "That is a possibility…John." She watched as he stepped toward the curtain and pulled it open.

"SURPRISE! Happy Birthday!"

Her son Taylor was the first person she saw standing in front of their little booth. Fusco was standing next to Finch and they were flanked by Louie and she assumed his wife Lucy. Tears started to well up in her eyes; she thought everyone had forgotten about it, she almost had.

"Happy birthday Joss…" John gave her a rare, full smile. He had remebered her birthday.

POI

-30-


End file.
